CHERUB: People's Republic

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘Your dad’s a good fella,’ Ingrid said, trying to sound soothing. ‘Important people owe him favours. Even if he’s found guilty, it’s most likely just a fine.’

  ‘Right,’ Ning said, but she didn’t stay reassured once her brain kicked in and started asking questions:

  Where was Ingrid’s driver, Wei? Why hadn’t she been able to get her dad’s secretary on the phone? And if this was going to blow over, why was Ingrid tearing along the highway in a panic?

  ‘What are you trying to get away from?’ Ning asked. ‘You’ve got nothing to do with Dad’s business, have you?’

  ‘Not day-to-day, but in a legal sense I do.’

  Ingrid was rarely sober much beyond eleven in the morning, so Ning found this hard to believe.

  ‘You never go to the office with Dad, or anything like that.’

  ‘I’m a Brit,’ Ingrid explained. ‘You Chinese are all tied up with red tape. Regulations on investment, tax, foreign exchange. So your dad sets up foreign companies in my name as a way of getting around the rules. And that’s all well and good until the shit hits the fan.’

  This made some sense. Ning had seen her stepfather bring home papers for Ingrid to sign.

  ‘But shouldn’t we be there for Dad?’ Ning asked. ‘Why run away?’

  Ingrid didn’t answer because they were coming up to an exit and she was confused by the road layout. ‘Is this the exit to drive through the villages?’

  Ning nodded. ‘You want seventeen, the exit after this one. It takes us straight to the house.’

  But Ingrid scythed in front of a Buick Excelle and down the exit ramp.

  ‘You’ll have to go all through the villages,’ Ning warned. ‘This way takes ages.’

  ‘I know this way better,’ Ingrid said.

  This was a blatant lie. The route from seventeen involved driving in a straight line for three kilometres and taking a single right turn, whereas going through the villages involved rutted roads and the likelihood of getting stuck behind a tractor, or some peasant with chicken cages stacked on the back of a moped.

  The car felt less comfortable as it left the exit ramp of the modern highway and rattled over cracked tarmac that was barely wide enough for two cars to pass. They’d reached Dandong’s outermost suburbs and after passing a drab factory complex that made its surroundings smell like burnt plastic, they reached proper countryside, with wheat and corn swaying under late afternoon sun.

  ‘Does Dad know you’re running away?’ Ning asked.

  ‘It’s his idea,’ Ingrid explained. ‘He thinks it’s better if you and I are out of the country until all this blows over.’

  ‘When did you speak to him?’

  ‘He got a tip-off from a pal in the police department, a few minutes before he got done. There wasn’t time for him to scoot, but he made some arrangements and he was on the phone to me as the cops burst into his office.’

  ‘But Dad’s not a crook,’ Ning said, practically whining. ‘This is so unfair.’

  ‘Life’s not fair, babes. You’d better get used to that. We’ll get some things from the house, then stay somewhere like Singapore or Thailand for a few weeks and fly home when this is smoothed over.’

  It was a fine afternoon, but Ning studied goosebumps on her legs, caused by fear and the cold blast from the air conditioning. After a couple of minutes with nothing but the sound of the car riding potholes, the tarmac ended and the road forked into two dirt tracks. The big limousine would have bogged down here in the wet, but the province had been going through a hot spell, so the dirt was baked hard and the back wheels spewed up tan-coloured dust.

  Ingrid stopped by a stretch of overgrown farmland a kilometre shy of home. The land had been sold to speculators, who’d demolished everything except a small barn, then ringed the plot with wire fencing, much of which had been cut away and stolen by local farmers.

  Ning now realised why Ingrid had pulled off the highway at the wrong junction.

  ‘You think there might be cops waiting for us at the house?’ Ning said, as she stepped into the dirt, wondering how her unshod feet would stand a cross-country walk.

  ‘Most likely,’ Ingrid said. ‘We’ll come up to the house from behind. If there’s a lot of cops we’re buggered. But I’m hardly a major villain and they probably don’t know that your dad tipped me off before he got arrested. With any luck it’ll just be a couple of uniforms expecting me to drive through the main gate.’

  ‘And if we can’t get into the house for our passports, how will we get out of the country?’ Ning asked.

  ‘Passports?’ Ingrid said, looking surprised. ‘Our passports are useless, babe. They’ll be on alert at every airport and border post.’

  Ning felt a knot in her belly. ‘So how do we get to Singapore, or wherever?’

  The more Ning heard, the less things made sense. Ingrid had lied about turning off at the junction, what else was she lying about? And Ingrid wasn’t exactly stable, so was she lying because she was covering something serious, or because she was a paranoid drunk who didn’t understand what was going on?

  ‘There’s gonna be time for explanations later,’ Ingrid said, as she started walking into the overgrown field, with their house a small outline in the distance. ‘We need cash and that house is the only place I know to get it. Once we have money, your father gave me contact details for some people who’ll get us out of the country.’

  8. HOME

  Ning’s soles were black as she crept over dusty ground, close to a cedar fence topped with barbed wire. Ingrid was a few steps behind, peering through a gap between planks.

  ‘Can’t see anyone,’ Ingrid whispered. ‘Just a beige car.’

  Ning took a look for herself. The villa was large. Two storeys with a reddish slate roof, roman columns and a gaudy dome made from green glass. The large back lawn was immaculately mown, and the centrepiece was a garden square with formal lines of plants and hedges.

  The villa had been Ning’s home since her adoption five years earlier, but now it felt like hostile ground. The anonymous brown car parked by the garage block had two small roof aerials and on close inspection, blue lights set into the rear bumper.

  ‘Cops for sure,’ Ingrid said quietly. ‘If I give you a boost, can you climb in?’

  The suggestion gave Ning a pang of discomfort. Had her stepdad really asked Ingrid to take her out of China, or did Ingrid just need her to help with the break-in?

  Before starting, Ning gave her cat’s tail a mighty tug, snapping the nylon threads attaching it to the back of her leotard. Ingrid then stood with one knee on the ground and her palms flat against the fence. Once Ning was balanced on Ingrid’s shoulders, she rose up until Ning’s eyes were aligned with the wire.

  ‘See much?’ Ingrid asked.

  It was past five in the evening. Low sun turned the villa’s windows into white glare, making it difficult to look at the back of the house. For all Ning could tell, there might be twenty cops inside watching her.

  ‘I’ll risk it,’ Ning said.

  Ning hadn’t done gymnastics or strength training in the year since she’d been kicked out of Dandong National Sports Academy, but her skills looked fresh as she moved easily from Ingrid’s shoulders. She straddled three lines of barbed wire, then settled into a crouching position with her feet balanced on the top of the fence. As she jumped down, the back of her leotard snagged barbs, throwing her off axis and ripping circular holes over her lower back and right across her bum.

  Ingrid stared anxiously through the gap in the fence as Ning hit the grass hard. Ning felt a sharp pain in her right side as she rolled on to her back, but the lawn was regularly watered and the soft earth saved her.

  Ning kept low, crawling rapidly over the grass towards the house. After thirty metres, she reached a screened area used to store the household bins. It stank of rotten food and the gravel around the four large plastic bins swarmed with flies picking at a duck carcass.

  The rubbish bags were all thrown abou
t and split open, presumably by cops searching for evidence. Ning stood, rather than crawl through the filth. To her relief the pain in her side wasn’t too bad when she straightened up.

  A metal catch opened the access gate used by garbage collectors. Ning leaned into a paved alleyway, with the fence of the smaller villa next door facing her.

  ‘Nice one, sweetheart,’ Ingrid whispered, keeping close to the fence as she ran through the open gate and planted a kiss on Ning’s cheek. The alcohol on Ingrid’s breath was fresh enough to overpower the garbage.

  ‘Have you got a hip flask or something?’

  Ingrid shrugged. ‘Needed a quick slug for courage. You ready?’

  They moved out of the garbage area. Despite years of boozing, Ingrid was no wimp. They kept low and moved fast, ending up squatting between the brown car and the side entrance of the house, where a trio of air-conditioning units blasted warm air.

  While Ingrid peered through frosted glass in the side door, Ning inspected herself. There was a tender spot below her ribs, she had grass stains down both legs of her tights, and the back of her leotard was shredded, exposing black knickers with skulls on them.

  Ning looked around as Ingrid unlocked the side door. She twisted the knob slowly, pushed the door and they crept into a large utility room. The floor was covered with limestone tiles. There was a washer and dryer at one end, the cleaner’s trolley and an ironing board at the other.

  ‘Everything we need is upstairs,’ Ingrid whispered.

  As Ingrid crossed to the door on the opposite side of the utility room, Ning grabbed a freshly laundered washcloth and used it to wipe gravel digging painfully into her soles.

  Ingrid opened a small gap in the door leading to the main part of the house, but looked shocked and closed it rapidly.

  ‘There’s two cops in the kitchen playing cards,’ Ingrid said. Then she dug into the pocket of her jeans, pulled out a hip flask and took another slug before offering it to Ning.

  The smell of booze made Ning heave and back off.

  ‘Where’s the money you’re looking for?’ Ning asked.

  ‘Up in the nursery,’ Ingrid said. ‘They seem pretty engrossed in their game. If we pick our moment and keep low they shouldn’t see us. I’ll get the money. You go to your room and quickly pack a few things in a bag.’

  ‘How do we know they’re the only cops?’ Ning asked.

  ‘We don’t know anything,’ Ingrid said. ‘But there’s only one car, and judging by the way they’re sitting there playing cards, I’d bet their instructions are to sit around and arrest the dumb English wife when she gets home with ten bags of shopping.’

  ‘They might have heard what happened at the school though,’ Ning said.

  ‘Might, might a lot of things,’ Ingrid said impatiently, as she reached for the door handle. ‘Stick close. Now!’

  As Ingrid led the way across polished marble towards a curving staircase, Ning saw the cops on bar stools less than ten metres away. One was practically a boy, the other was fatter with greying hair. Both had gun holsters, but only paid attention to the cards in their hand.

  Two cleaners usually kept the house pristine; cops had searched the place, turning everything upside down. There was cutlery and food packets strewn over the kitchen floor, and feathers hung in the air where they’d sliced open sofa cushions.

  The stair carpet had been ripped up and Ning placed her feet carefully to avoid the spiked grip rods designed to hold it in place. Her bedroom and the nursery were on opposite sides of the hallway at the top of the first-floor landing.

  ‘Quick as you can,’ Ingrid said.

  Ning expected her room to be a mess after what she’d seen downstairs, but it still pissed her off seeing all her stuff thrown about. Her mattress, duvet and pillows had all been cut up. Her bed frame had been tipped against the wall, her laptop had been taken away and the contents of every drawer and cupboard were spilled over the floor.

  Just entering the room had kicked up a storm of feathers and Ning put a hand over her face because it made her want to sneeze. Most of her bags were at Miss Xu’s. The only holdall she could find was a grubby orange pack from her sports academy days. She unzipped it and stuffed in handfuls of underwear, jeans, tops and a brand new pair of Nikes.

  With the bag two-thirds full, Ning went into her bathroom to grab some toiletries and was disgusted to find her floor and toilet seat soaking wet where one of the cops had pissed without even attempting to aim at the bowl. Planting her feet carefully between puddled urine, Ning dropped tissues, toothbrush, nail clippers, body spray and a few other bits in the bag. Then she remembered her special box.

  Ning found the box tipped on its end between her bedside table and the wall. It was the kind of box a four-year-old thinks is beautiful, made from garish yellow plastic, with peeling gold foil and a picture of a badger in a waistcoat on the lid.

  It was the only thing Ning had owned for longer than she could remember. She checked that the cops hadn’t interfered, but everything was there: The picture taken at the orphanage with her little playmate who died in a traffic accident, the silver medal she’d won for boxing at the National Tournament in Beijing, a copy of her adoption certificate stapled to a photo taken with her step-parents on the day they’d signed the papers, the autograph of the TV star Ning had a crush on when she was eight, and a bunch of other stuff of no value to anyone but her.

  When the box was safely zipped inside the bag, Ning headed towards the hallway. But she heard a cop coming up the stairs.

  ‘Ingrid,’ Ning said, as loud as she dared.

  The older cop spoke quietly from the base of the staircase. ‘Are you sure this footprint wasn’t here before?’

  Ning’s dirty soles had marked the polished marble at the base of the stairs.

  ‘It’s here too, where they pulled the carpet up,’ the young cop answered. ‘These footprints came after the search. Do you think it’s Fu’s wife, or the stepdaughter?’

  Ning heard the older cop moving up the stairs. ‘The girl is only eleven,’ he said. ‘My daughter is thirteen and her feet are smaller than that.’

  Ning thought about crossing the hallway into the nursery, but if the cops were more than halfway up the stairs they’d see her, and she risked getting shot at.

  ‘Mrs Fu,’ the older cop shouted. ‘We know you’re up there. Please step slowly into the hallway with your hands in the air.’

  Ning had no appetite for surrender. If the cops got her and things went badly, they’d ship her off to the toughest reform school they could find and keep her there until she was eighteen. With the orange pack slung over her shoulder, she dashed to the window, turned the handle and threw it open. The jump was a metre more than her drop from the fence, and this time she’d be landing on gravel over concrete rather than a soft lawn.

  ‘Let’s not have trouble, Mrs Fu,’ the older cop shouted, sounding like he’d reached the top of the stairs.

  Ning gulped air and felt sick as she stepped up on to the window ledge, but before she got her other leg up the young cop stood in the doorway with his gun pointing right at her.

  ‘Freeze, freeze!’

  He was handsome, no more than twenty-two, and he looked as frightened as Ning felt. She took a look down at the gravel.

  ‘If you jump, you’ll probably break your legs,’ the cop said. ‘And if you don’t I’ll shoot you in your back as you run away. So show me your hands and step away from the window.’

  9. NURSERY

  Ning felt beat as she turned towards the cop with her hands in the air. Maybe if she got in close she could knock the gun out of his hand, but that would be tough and even if she pulled that move off his partner would be pointing his gun at her by the time she got the job done.

  ‘Is she alone?’ the older cop shouted.

  ‘Was it just you?’ the cop asked.

  Ning paused for an instant before nodding. Her hesitance dented the young officer’s confidence in her answer.

  ‘T
his isn’t exactly the town centre,’ the officer said. ‘How’d you get way out here on your own?’

  ‘A friend lives in the village a mile away. His dad dropped me behind the field out back.’

  By this time the older cop was in the hallway. His red face and short breathing made him look like a candidate for a heart attack.

  ‘Says she’s alone, but I think we need to check the place out,’ the younger cop said, as Ning wondered if Ingrid had been brave enough to jump out of a window. ‘I’ll call for backup just in case.’

  ‘You bloody won’t,’ the older cop said firmly. ‘The boss will rip us one if he finds out we let them sneak in. The wife is no threat, probably passed out drunk somewhere. Get this lady cuffed, then help me look for mother.’

  The young cop took handcuffs off his belt and threw them to the floor at Ning’s feet. ‘Pick them up, and snap them over your wrists.’

  Ning bent forward, but a gun went off as she grabbed the cuffs. The younger cop crashed forward. A mist of blood sprayed Ning’s face, as she took the best cover she could by diving towards the wall behind her upturned bed.

  The next two shots hit the older cop, knocking him down the hallway towards the stairs. Another crack came and this time the bang was so close that it made Ning’s ear pop as it smashed through the young cop’s skull.

  The commotion had thrown up clumps of feathers and Ning fought a cough as Ingrid hopped across the carpet holding a large automatic pistol.

  ‘Where’d you get that?’ Ning shouted, over the ringing in her ears.

  ‘Stashed in the nursery, with money and everything else we need,’ Ingrid explained.

  There was a smell of gunpowder, mixed with shit from the young cop’s ruptured intestine. Seeing death up close was a first for Ning, but more shocking was Ingrid’s clinical shooting. The young cop had a bullet through the stomach and another through the head. The older one out in the hallway had been hit through the heart, followed by an execution shot through the forehead.