The Ghost Shift

by John Gapper

  “You’ve forgotten,” Feng said. “General Sun has departed. We’re the only ones here, and the rules of shuanggui are hazy. People have a habit of turning up dead, like in your factories. We might not notice if something hits you. This room’s not suitable for conversation. Let’s continue downstairs.”

  The guard shackled Cao again, and they went through the kitchen to the stairs that led to the cellar. It was a dank space, smelling of gasoline. Car tires lay on the concrete. One wall was lined with tools—a power drill, saws, spades, hoes, a lawnmower, a rack of screws. There was barely any light, just the glow under the door.

  “Remove your clothes,” Feng said.

  “Who are you to tell me that?”

  “Do it,” Mei said.

  Cao’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if imagining what he’d do to her if the tables were turned, and unbuttoned his military shirt. He bent to untie his laces and pull off his pants and underpants. His body was smooth and unlined, with a small belly and thin legs.

  Feng walked to the tools and selected a tire iron. “Hold him,” she said to the guard, who gripped his former boss by the shoulders from behind without hesitation. She swung the tool through the air in one quick motion, and smacked it up through his ribs, into his liver. Cao screamed and fell to his knees on the concrete, clutching his midriff.

  “Smart people do stupid things,” she said. “I saw the list of those tablets you sent. They went to the most powerful people in the country—provincial governors, the Army, the Navy, Beijing ministries, the Politburo, the Standing Committee. Everyone in a senior position was on it, except for one person. He didn’t receive one—because he was the one giving them out.”

  Cao was bent over the floor. Racked with pain, his body looked old and frail. He’d stopped protesting and was silent. Feng reached out a foot and rolled him on his back, like a cockroach.

  “Chen Longwei. He’s your best friend, isn’t he? Your mentor. The man who let you make a fortune in return for a few million yuan and some favors.”

  Cao was still trying to catch his breath, his legs splayed on the floor. He tried to speak a couple of times before managing it. “Let me get dressed. I’ll tell you what you want.”

  The guard looked at Feng, who nodded. He handed Cao his clothes, and the man buttoned the shirt. He couldn’t stretch to put on his pants, but he laid them over his groin. He was still gasping in pain.

  “I don’t know what they make in there. I don’t ask them. That was the deal. I made sure no one talked and no one got out of there. All I know is that he wanted to use the factory, and he said he’d shut the whole place down if I didn’t help.”

  “So you killed your workers for him?”

  “Does it shock you? It wasn’t hard. There’s a wall around Long Tan, and we have our own police force. Twenty bodies? It’s nothing. Millions died in the Great Famine. Did that make Mao a criminal?”

  The images of Lenin and Stalin had vanished from Tiananmen Square since he’d lived in Beijing, but Mao was still lying in state in his mausoleum. Lockhart looked across at Feng to see how she would answer, but she turned away, ignoring the question.

  They left at five, two soldiers in the leading Mercedes, Cao in the rear sedan with Mei. The guard was in a driver’s uniform, having held the door open for her as Cao stalked to the other side. It wasn’t easy to swing her legs in an Alexander McQueen dress with a gold dragonfly wing pattern that finished just below the knee. Its cap sleeves and tight silhouette made it look like a catwalk qipao dress. She paired it with black Dior pumps—savoring her last fling with the wardrobe of the general’s mistress.

  Cao wore an open-necked silk shirt and a dinner suit, which the guard had brought from his house. Both the Hong Kong police and Cao’s wife had been told to stop looking for him. Mei stared from the window as they drove down Deep Water Bay Road, not engaging Cao. It had taken him two days to make the arrangements, and she had said nothing to him in that time. He’d tried to kill her and he’d murdered her sister. Even if he was useful, even if they did have a mission for the night, she had no intention of offering him any humanity.

  A motor launch with a maroon hull and cream leather seats waited by a jetty at the Victoria Recreation Club, and four people climbed on board—one soldier, the guard, and the wealthy-looking couple, out for the evening. Mei sat in the stern as it zipped to Cao’s yacht—a giant version of the same color scheme, with a sleek two-decked cabin and a radar antenna. The crew looked as if they were happy to be sailing, even if it was just a night out in Macau, rather than an oceangoing voyage. The engines hummed without the rough diesel of the fishing boat—more like the Mercedes.

  They dawdled through the East Lamma channel, then the captain opened the throttle, the bow lifted, and they left the Hong Kong ferries behind, surfing across open water and dropping anchor in the Cotai marina. In another limousine, on the Ponte de Sai Van Bridge across the harbor, Mei watched Macau light up in the dusk. Neon pulsated up the tulip bulb of the Grand Lisboa casino, a pink and orange temple to luck. The Wynn Macau sat opposite, a restrained wave amid the brashness of the old Portuguese colony. Macau was Las Vegas on the water—bolder, bigger, and wealthier.

  “Are you sure he’ll come?” Mei broke her silence.

  “He can’t resist Macau.”

  In the Grand Lisboa’s lobby, Mei paused to look at a glass-encased Qing sculpture of a horse’s head, while a manager bowed to Cao, offering an escort to the upper stories. It had cost Stanley Ho nine million dollars to reclaim the piece, looted from a Zodiac fountain in the Old Summer Palace in Beijing by French and British soldiers in 1860. The punters streaming into his casino hardly noticed—they were interested only in their own fortunes.

  The party ascended through the floors of the Grand Lisboa, from the sic bo tables by the lobby to the main gaming floor, dominated by a giant blue egg on a gold stand. The Crazy Paris floor show played as they walked beside a balcony, with half-naked women in glitter costumes dancing the can-can for the men who’d risen from the tables to stand. Mei had to walk rapidly behind Cao to keep up—he was already on the escalator to the upper floor, where the gaming halls gave way to the VIP rooms.

  The manager opened the last door on the curved corridor, ushering them through. As they entered, Mei saw that she’d entered another world—a casino of its own. Instead of bawdy entertainment and players cursing their luck on the public tables, this was a hushed place where millions could be placed in side bets on a single coup. A month before, an official had given a talk at the Commission on money laundering in Macau—how bribes and kickbacks could be funneled out of China through credit accounts with the junkets, into casino chips and then into Hong Kong dollars.

  A Buddha statue sat in the middle of the room, between two baccarat tables. A squat dark-skinned man in a crumpled suit played at the first, while at the other, six players were arrayed around a gambler with a stash of chips. The gambler creased his card and peered under it, letting the tension build. The Player’s box contained a queen and an ace. He flipped the card—a three; the crowd deflated. The banker had a jack and a seven, and the dealer scooped the chips from around the table.

  The partner in Cao’s junket was a young man with a thin mustache and shaky hands. He led them to a side room with an ornate bar, where a waiter brought Coca-Cola and trays of snacks.

  “Welcome to Macau, Jia.” Cao held his glass to hers, forcing her to respond. She did it, hating him as much as the moment when he’d left her to die, then pushed it to the back of her mind.

  “Darling,” she said. “Teach me to play.”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  Five piles of chips were stacked at his seat, opposite the figure eight, at the emptier table. Mei sat to Cao’s left, in the ninth place, as the dealer stuffed fresh decks into her shoe. Ten seats were arrayed around the kidney-shaped table, but she’d been dealing only for the squat man. His pile of chips was low, and he looked as if he’d lost pleasure in the game.

  “
Give me good fortune.” Cao took a pile of chips, each worth a thousand Hong Kong dollars, and slid them to Mei.

  “Wait.” She delved into her clutch bag, palming an identical chip as she reached inside. She made a show of applying her lipstick, then took half of the chips he had passed her, blowing on them and sliding them back. Her own was on top of the pile. He put it by his right elbow.

  “I’ll keep these.” She pointed at the remaining chips massed in front of her, the demanding mistress accustomed to getting her way. “When will your friend arrive? I want to have fun.”

  “He’ll be here soon—”

  As he spoke, the door opened and a group of plainclothes security men came in, fanning out through the space. Two stood by their table, one at her left side, the other by the lone gambler. Cao whispered in the security man’s ear, and the man lifted his jacket from the back of his chair and walked away. The same was happening at the other table—the game ceased and the players dispersed. A couple wandered toward the bar and then, finding it closed off, headed off back into the casino. The room emptied, leaving just Cao, his junket partner, the guards, and the dealer.

  A minute passed, with the dealer sorting her chips silently, before Chen walked in. He stood by the door, soaking in the atmosphere, as if home after a long journey. His suit was finer than on the stage in Revolutionary Martyrs Park and in the compound, when he’d urged the cadres not to deceive the Party. This was the Chen of Macau and Hong Kong, not the People’s Republic. He stepped toward the Buddha between the tables, stroking one hand down its side to appreciate it.

  “How is your luck, Cao Fu? Are you ready to play?” His voice had the rich timbre she knew.

  Chen took the seventh seat, and the barman placed a tumbler of whiskey, stacked with ice, by his elbow. He took one sip, then glanced past Cao toward Mei. As he smiled, she felt a terrifying sense of isolation. She was alone with both of them in a sealed room—two men she knew for certain would not hesitate to kill her.

  “Introduce us, Cao Fu.” He showed no sign of having recognized her from his lecture in the auditorium.

  “This is my friend, Jiang Jia.”

  “I envy you in discovering such a beauty. Can she be trusted? We have things to talk about, and I wouldn’t want to subject her to the indignity of being searched. Not in that dress.”

  “I find her discreet.”

  “Then she is welcome. A beautiful woman will bring us luck.” Chen rose and walked around Cao’s chair to Mei, kissing her hand. She felt his warm breath. “Let us trust one another, as always. Our friendship has brought you wealth.”

  “It has many benefits for you, as well.”

  “We both gain. Why would we spoil it?”

  He turned his eyes to the dealer and nodded, placing ten thousand Hong Kong dollar chips on Player. The $1,300 bet was his official monthly salary. Cao beckoned to the junket partner, and the man hurried over.

  “A side bet. Ten times every chip. Can you handle that?”

  “Of course, sir. We have no worries, when it’s you.”

  “Very well.” Cao slid ten thousand-dollar chips onto Player, matching Chen, plus an invisible side bet of one hundred thousand.

  The dealer dealt him the Player cards. Cao squeezed back the top corners, then turned them to peer under the edges. His face didn’t change as he threw them across the table to be flipped. A king and a nine—a natural coup. Mei squeaked excitedly and clapped her hands. “I brought you good fortune, like you said.”

  “I want you at my side,” Chen said to Mei.

  Cao clipped a cigar and lit it, placing a hand on Mei’s back. “You can’t have everything.”

  “I will, soon. Don’t bet against me.”

  “Are you a powerful man?” asked Mei innocently.

  “Very.”

  The two men repeated their bets. The dealer slid the cards to Cao and placed two more on the Banker’s square. Cao creased both cards, looking at them as impassively as before. He slid them to the dealer, and she exposed them. An ace and an eight—another natural.

  “This is a lucky night, Cao. It is the Year of the Dragon, the year of good fortune and prosperity.” Chen turned to Mei, cradling the extra chips the dealer had passed. “You asked if I was powerful. In one month’s time, the Party holds its National Congress in Beijing. I shall join the Politburo Standing Committee. It has been agreed. Does that sound powerful enough for you?”

  “I like men who are unafraid, who seize their chances and take risks. Cao is just such a man. That’s why he pleases me.” She placed her hand on Cao’s, as he rested it on the table, fighting back her revulsion.

  “I would please you more,” Chen said.

  She stared back into his copper eyes and smiled.

  “Then play for me.”

  Lockhart was in the back, behind the Army officers, the Macau Public Security Police, and a woman from the Guangdong Commission for Discipline Inspection, who seemed—amid the bundle of security forces—to have the best claim to authority. He didn’t have a prime view of the screens in the security center of the Grand Lisboa, but he’d found his way in. Feng had stood up for him, despite the grunts of protest.

  Tension crackled as they watched the video from the camera high up in one corner of the VIP room, its view partly obscured by the Buddha’s head. They could hear more clearly—the microphones in the baccarat table and the chip were working well. As Mei made her challenge to Chen, the woman put a hand up to her mouth. Lockhart couldn’t tell, watching her from behind, if she was scandalized or impressed.

  The security room was black and enclosed, the banks of screens producing the only light. They could see every part of the casino, from the treasures in the lobby to the gambling floor and behind the scenes in the kitchens and changing rooms. One camera even displayed the Crazy Paris dancers in their dressing rooms, for security or late-night amusement. They’d left two security officials in place to cover the rest of the building and were focused on this one contest.

  On the screen, the dealer pushed a pair of cards to Chen, who had taken on the Player’s role. He beckoned to Mei to sit with him, to touch his cards for luck. Cao tried to look jealous, but he was a bad actor, glancing at the camera as if willing the charade to end. Chen was too absorbed by Mei to take any notice.

  “How much longer will it take?” Cao said suddenly.

  “Will what take?” Chen was looking at Mei.

  “The ghost shift. When will it end?”

  The silence in the room thickened, and Lockhart leaned forward in his chair. It was a delicate thing, inserting the hook, and Cao lacked subtlety. Lockhart felt the inquiry dangle in the air.

  “Don’t talk business, silly melon,” Mei said. She took one of Chen’s hands and folded his fingers over a chip. “Put that in a good spot for me. I want to play along with you.”

  Chen took his cards and squeezed them from the table, displaying them to Mei while keeping them from Cao. A ten and a three. He nodded to the dealer, and she slipped a third from the shoe.

  “We’ll be done soon. Why, Cao Fu? Have you lost your nerve? Are you panicking? That won’t please Jia. You see—” The dealer turned over a five, giving him the coup. “She’s lucky.”

  “I’m under investigation. The news is full of stories about bodies at Long Tan. People are asking questions in Zhongnanhai. I was called by a member of the Politburo. They want it to stop.”

  “The mountain is high, and the emperor is far away. Ignore them.”

  Cao slammed a hand on the table. “I can’t ignore them. I killed people for you. This isn’t a game, Chen Longwei.”

  “Some weaklings fell off buildings because they caused trouble. Why are you so scared? She’s braver than you.” Chen turned to her. “A little death for a good cause. Are you shocked?”

  Mei fingered his lapel. “Can I confess something? I’m a little ashamed.” She leaned in to whisper. “It excites me.”

  Chen slipped his arm around her waist. “Listen to her, Cao Fu. S
he is a patriot. Was the Cultural Revolution easy? It was tough and painful, as I saw with my own eyes, but the Party emerged stronger. Zhongnanhai is weak, and the people yearn to be led. That’s why they want me. That’s why this girl desires me more than she desires you, Cao Fu. I know what these idiots write, everything they think. I know their inner thoughts, not the words they utter in public for the masses. How corrupt they are, how contemptible. The people will be told.”

  A red machine sat on the desk next to Pan. It was like a telephone without buttons, just a handset and a light. Two technicians had brought it into the room with them, connecting it to a box with a thick cable. When Chen stopped speaking, the device flashed. Pan listened for thirty seconds before replacing the receiver.

  “Now,” she said.

  Mei had opened her mouth to say she was going to the restroom, when the door blew out of its frame, batting a guard across the room into the Buddha. His body fell limply as soldiers fired canisters of gas into the space. Another guard tried to pull his gun but was blown backward by two bursts of automatic fire.

  Mei couldn’t raise her arms in surrender because her hands were covering her mouth and nose, trying to block the gas. She dropped to her knees and rolled under the table, where she found the dealer. Soldiers ran across the room and pulled Cao and Chen to the ground at gunpoint, fastening their hands behind their backs with cuffs. She’d opened one eye when another soldier reached under the table and dragged her out, burning her knee on the carpet. He rolled her over and tied her, barefoot and breathless.

  She was in that position five minutes later when the gas cleared and Pan entered. All Mei could see of the woman were her shoes and black pants, until she crouched by her.

  “Find her a chair,” Pan told a soldier.

  Two of them hauled her up and propped her in one of the armchairs from the bar. Her hands were fastened at her back, and Pan tucked down Mei’s dress, now ripped at the knee.