Dr D bristled at the suggestion that someone at TFU hadn’t been thorough. ‘Young man,’ she said firmly. ‘We ran a background check. But Gillian runs a computer security company. She’s a cautious lady, surrounded by employees who are instructed to report anything unusual to their company’s internal security team.
‘At present, Gillian has no idea she’s under investigation, or that we know she’s related to members of the Aramov Clan. But all she needs is one tip-off that someone checked her name on the United Airlines database, or an ex-girlfriend calling up to say that someone’s been asking questions, and Gillian could jet off to Kyrgyzstan, where we can’t lay a finger on her.’
21. DAN
Ning waited for hours. Rubbish bags landed on her head, flies and rats freaked her out and the stench of decay lined her throat. She heard men coming back through the gates, disappointed not to score their bounty, but Leonid didn’t seem too fussed. He’d gone back upstairs to work on Ingrid.
It was impossible to get comfortable, especially with her toe and stomach competing to be the most painful. Lying in rat piss and maggots made her worry about the burn getting infected. She wondered if Ingrid knew she’d escaped and tried not to imagine what Leonid was up to.
Ning also thought about her saviour. The teenager had crushed her foot when ordered to, but he’d also loosened her handcuffs. Leonid would surely kill the teenager for lying about her escape, so it was brave to intervene. But had he done it because he was good and wanted to save her, or bad and wanted an eleven-year-old girl for reasons that didn’t bear thinking about?
As night turned to morning the club got busier, until the courtyard was heaving. Everyone seemed drunk. Bottles smashed, cigarettes got flicked into Ning’s bin and there was at least one fight.
Ning had no watch, but she guessed it was past 3 a.m. when the door staff came to clear everyone out. Her back ached and desperate thirst made her consider climbing up and making a break. But how far would she hobble on her bad foot before someone spotted her? Waiting for the teenager was her only realistic chance of getting more than a few hundred metres.
‘Still there?’ the boy asked, when his face finally appeared over the edge of the bin. ‘We go now. Everyone gone.’
The teenager took a precautionary backwards glance as Ning held up her arms. He grabbed her under the pits and pulled her out, painfully dragging burned flesh across the rim of the dustbin.
Ning felt around her chest to make sure she had her backpack as the teenager carried her towards a rusting Lada, with mismatched body panels.
‘Not far,’ the teenager said as he sat Ning in the open boot.
She had to tuck her knees into her chest to fit inside, amidst snow chains and muddy boots.
‘Do not cry. I help,’ he said gently.
Ning had been in pain for so long that she didn’t even realise there were tears down her cheek. The slam of the boot popped her ears. Her position was even less comfortable than inside the bin, but she felt some relief as the car pulled through the gates and turned on to a road.
The ride was less than ten minutes. The boot creaked open at the base of a three-storey block. Nobody was about as the teenager gave Ning a piggyback to the first floor. He fumbled for a key and set her down in the hallway of a tiny apartment.
‘What’s your name?’ Ning asked, as she leaned against the wall.
‘Daniyar,’ the teenager said. ‘But everyone say Dan.’
He slid open a tiny plastic door, revealing a cramped space with a shower, sink and toilet with lopsided seat.
‘You smell bad,’ Dan said. ‘Water, yes?’
Ning nodded as she limped into the bathroom. Dan was clearly no fan of cleaning products: the floor was covered in some appalling examples of used underwear, with mouse turds dotted around the sink and along the skirting.
She turned on the shower and began to undress. The mirror showed the filth soaked into her clothes. Her burn stung badly and had darkened since she’d last seen it, as had the wounds on her chin and wrists. She was down to her socks when the rattling door made her jump.
Ning was jittery and hopped back, but Dan had only put his arm inside the door. He felt blindly along the wall, attached a pink towelling robe to a hook inside the door, then reached back in holding out a small bar of fancy soap.
‘My sister leave this here when she marry,’ Dan said.
At home Ning had been used to designer toiletries, but there was something comforting about the crumbling pink bar with a swan moulded into its surface.
Removing her sock was excruciating and revealed a broken pinky-toe pointing up at an alarming angle. But emotionally Ning felt stronger as she stepped under a weedy shower head and washed the stench out of her hair. She had to keep soap away from her burn, but she felt almost human as she stepped into the hallway.
The rest of Dan’s apartment comprised a single room, five paces in any direction. Besides his bed the space was dominated by a flat-screen TV, an exercise bench and a mountain of barbells and cast-iron weight discs. The posters on the walls depicted large-breasted women dressed in skimpy leather costumes.
The oppressive maleness made Ning feel vulnerable with nothing under her robe, but Dan didn’t seem threatening, as he stood by his kitchen cabinet slicing an apple and dividing the chunks between two plates.
‘You sit my bed,’ Dan said.
As Ning sat, Dan came across with a mug of tea and a small plate. There were cubes of cheese, apple slices, a lump of processed meat shaped like the can from which it had been pulled, and a triangle of flat bread, which Ning eyed suspiciously.
‘Lepioshka,’ Dan said. ‘You not like?’
Ning smiled as she bit. ‘Yes I like,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’ve never had bread like this before.’
Dan sat beside Ning on the bed. He’d kicked his trainers off and his socks stank, but she could hardly complain. Dan’s plate was the same, but with larger portions.
‘Sorry about foot,’ Dan said, as he chewed a piece of the canned meat. ‘I have much guilt.’
Ning nodded and spoke extra slowly so that Dan could understand. ‘You were brave to help me.’
‘Kyrgyzstan is very poor,’ Dan explained. ‘You saw lady in bins?’
‘The one Kuban beat up?’
‘Yes,’ Dan said. ‘Many here live like that. Old get no money. Young have no job. Even in Africa many people more rich than Kyrgyzstan. You understand?’
‘Understand,’ Ning said.
‘I would much like to work as mechanic, or shop. Maybe even educate. I work for Aramov Clan because I am very muscle.’
To make his point, Dan pulled up the sleeve of his Barcelona shirt and showed off an enormous bicep.
‘I hate many thing Aramov Clan do. But I have no mother, father. Sister marry, go far away. If I no work for Aramov, no money, no apartment, electricity, food. I be like bin lady. Yes?’
Ning put her hand on her chest. ‘You have a good heart,’ she said. ‘How old are you?’
‘Sixteen. You?’
‘Eleven,’ Ning said, ‘nearly twelve.’
‘Kuban tell me to hurt people. Much bad things if you not obey Aramov Clan. They kill me if they find you. Much painful, make example.’
‘Can you get me away from here?’ Ning asked.
Dan looked uncertain. ‘Many things I must find out. It take time.’
Ning had checked her backpack while she was in the bin and located the twenty-five-thousand-dollar brick rolled inside an old pair of shorts. But while Dan seemed trustworthy, she decided not to mention it for now.
‘Don’t look scared,’ Dan said. ‘Tomorrow I see nurse. Old friend of sister. She look. Make better.’
‘You trust her?’ Ning asked.
Dan didn’t know the word. ‘Trust?’
Ning tried to think of another way to put it. ‘Your friend, I still be safe?’
‘Safe, yes!’ Dan laughed. ‘She hate me working for Aramov. They murder her father brother.’
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Ning wasn’t sure if father brother meant father and brother, or father’s brother, but either way it sounded better than going untreated.
‘Are you sure they won’t look for me here?’ Ning asked, as she ate the last corner of the bread.
‘Leonid does not need you. Ingrid give everything he ask for.’
Ning hadn’t thought to ask about Ingrid. She gulped air: Ingrid believed she’d be killed as soon as Leonid had what he wanted.
‘Where is she now?’
The look on Dan’s face told Ning that Ingrid had been right.
‘Oh God,’ Ning gasped, as tears welled in her eyes.
‘Please no scream,’ Dan said, ready to clamp his hand over Ning’s mouth. ‘Wall very thin. People hear above.’
‘How?’ Ning asked. Then angrily, ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
Ning saw that Dan looked hurt. ‘I want you strong before I tell.’
‘How?’ Ning repeated.
Dan didn’t know the word, but made a throttling gesture with his hands.
‘Strangled,’ Ning said.
‘Not much hurt,’ Dan said, as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a gold ring, studded with three minuscule diamonds.
‘Leonid took ring with big, big diamond. He give other man gold necklace, and this for me. But you must have now.’
Ning felt like she’d been blown to bits as she took the ring and twirled it slowly in front of her eyes. Her stepfather had bought Ingrid some fine jewellery, but this battered old piece was the only thing Ingrid always wore, along with her wedding ring. She always called it her Argos Catalogue ring, though Ning had no idea what that meant.
As Dan put a hand on her back and said sorry again, Ning moved the ring close to her nose. She gave the inside an experimental sniff and caught Ingrid’s vodka and sweat aroma.
‘My bed is yours,’ Dan said, as Ning cried softly. ‘You need much to sleep.’
22. NURSE
Ning couldn’t leave Dan’s apartment. The first night she’d lain awake in pain, wondering if he was too good to be true. But it turned out that the only offensive things about Dan were his odorous feet and volcanic night-time farts that soon became a huge joke between them.
Dan’s nurse friend made Ning comfortable. She set her toe and swaddled it in a tight bandage; she cleaned the burn and tweezered gravel from the deep cut on her chin. Ning gave Dan some of her US dollars and he came back with a carrier bag full of elasticised bandage, antiseptic ointment and a special cream for healing burns.
Most days Dan went to work early and came back after dark. He said he did jobs for Leonid Aramov, but clammed up when pressed for details. They’d make dinner together and sleep head to toe on a double bed.
For the first couple of days, Ning wasn’t fit for much. She spent hours on Dan’s X-box and worked through his pirate DVDs, which mostly comprised gruesome slasher flicks and ultimate fighting videos. By the third day she was more mobile and decided to wage war on filth. She swept the floor, cleaned the bathroom, scrubbed down kitchen cabinets and tossed all the rotten food in the fridge.
Washing had to be done by hand, but over the following days she worked through Dan’s underwear mound, the bed sheets – which she suspected had not been washed since the day they’d been bought – and several pairs of jeans which were so filthy that they still turned water black after being soaked and wrung out three times. The only things Ning didn’t wash were the curtains, because Dan told her to keep them shut at all times.
It was hard work, but being busy kept dark thoughts out of her head.
Dan had a date on their third night and Ning felt jealous as he rushed about changing from his work clothes into a shirt and jeans that she’d washed. She secretly hoped he’d be home by eight with a slap mark on his cheek, but when he rolled in at 2 a.m. there was lipstick on his collar and he sang while he brushed his teeth.
‘Did you make love?’ Ning asked, as he climbed under the bed covers.
Dan didn’t understand. ‘What is make love?’
‘Sex,’ Ning said, making an in-and-out gesture with her index finger.
Dan laughed. ‘I wish much to have sex. But she live with mother and you are here.’
That was the only time Ning had felt like a burden, and Dan’s poor English made it tricky to judge his true feelings.
The next night they discussed plans for escape. Bishkek was near to a highway that took trucks carrying goods from China to Russia. They considered using some of Ning’s money to pay a Chinese truck driver to smuggle her into Russia. But this would involve a two-day drive across Kazakhstan and Ning spoke no Russian, so it was likely she’d be picked up on the streets and sent back to China as an illegal immigrant.
Dan’s second suggestion showed more promise: flying to Europe aboard one of the Aramov Clan’s planes and then travelling to Britain. Ingrid had been a British citizen, and as her legally adopted daughter, Ning should be entitled to British citizenship.
She’d end up in a British orphanage, or perhaps living with a relative of Ingrid’s, but either option seemed preferable to China, where her history of indiscipline and involvement in the murder of the two cops guaranteed that she’d spend the rest of her youth under strict discipline in a reform school.
Ning’s fifth day was a Sunday and Dan didn’t have to work. He went for a drink at the Kremlin and came back with information. Apparently the Aramov Clan ran thrice-weekly flights from their mountain airstrip to Plzen in the Czech Republic.
‘Chinese or Kyrgyz need apply for visa to enter most European country,’ Dan explained. ‘But for Czech Republic you only need passport. You still have the Kyrgyz passport?’
Ning had only seen Dan and the nurse over the past six days and speaking slow and simple English had become habitual.
‘Passports are in my bag,’ Ning said. ‘Kyrgyz and Chinese.’
‘I have beer with pilot called Maks. He say he get you on board plane, no problem. When you arrive Czech Republic, he take you to meet person he knows. Once there it is easy to get France, Spain, Italy. He say Britain more hard, but you can smuggle in truck, pay maybe one thousand dollar. Or you can get a good European passport. This take longer. Pay maybe two, three thousand dollars. Good yes?’
Ning smiled. ‘Yes, good. I have more than enough money. I know Maks, he was co-pilot when I flew here.’
‘He flies Plzen tomorrow. You pack things. I set alarm to four in morning and drive you.’
It was already late evening and Ning felt sad. It would be impossible to live her life cooped up in Dan’s tiny apartment, but she felt safe here and part of her wished that she could.
*
Dan stopped his battered Lada on a gravel track. The sky was dark, but a bluish glow rose from the runway of the Aramov Clan’s landing strip in the valley below.
‘Follow path,’ Dan explained. ‘Steep, be careful. At bottom you see three broken aircraft. Keep from sight until Maks come. He light cigarette when is safe for you. He want three thousand dollar. You have it ready, yes?’
‘All counted out,’ Ning said.
Her eyes glazed with tears as she leaned across from the passenger seat and gave Dan a hug.
‘I owe you my life,’ she said. ‘You are very kind and very brave.’
Dan smiled and looked emotional. ‘I think you more brave: no other girl dare wash my dirty underwear.’
Ning laughed as she kissed Dan on the cheek.
‘I will try to call your mobile when I am safe,’ Ning said. ‘And I give you two thousand dollars.’
Dan raised his hands. ‘Your money, I no want.’
Ning smiled. ‘No choice,’ she said. ‘I leave in your room, under mattress. Buy new curtains.’
They gave each other a final hug, before Ning grabbed her pack off the back seat and set off down the path. The light from the runway gave a rough idea where to place her feet, but the path was steeper than she’d imagined and it was hard on her broken toe, because the
downward slope meant every step pushed her foot towards the front of her trainer.
Maks sat on the deflated tyre of a tailless Antonov cargo plane. He seemed relaxed as he puffed a cigarette and counted his three thousand dollars. At the same time, Ning eyed an approaching convoy comprising an E-Class Mercedes and a pair of bashed-up minibuses with luggage lashed to roof racks. All three vehicles had Chinese number plates.
‘The count is good,’ Maks said, as he pocketed the money. ‘When you get to the plane you go to the back. Sit in the single seat. Avoid speaking and do not give your name.’
‘Dan bought books for me in the market,’ Ning said. ‘I’ll read. How long is the flight?’
‘Eight hours, including a stop in Volgograd to refuel. In Plzen , I will take you through customs then put you in a taxi, to meet a lady called Chun Hei.’
Ning looked confused. ‘Dan said you’d go with me.’
‘Nyet, nyet!’ Maks said, shaking his head. ‘I am the pilot. I must fly back here after one or two hours. Don’t worry, you will be safe.’
Ning’s ride was a thirty-five-year-old, ex-Soviet Antonov AN-24. As the fifty-seat turboprop made regular trips into the Czech Republic, it had to meet European safety standards and looked in much better shape than the junk heap that had taken her out of China. The hull was painted white with red and gold stripes – the Kyrgyz national colours – and Clanair was stencilled along the side.
As Ning neared the aircraft she followed Maks through a forty-strong scrum, trying to cram their stuff into the plane’s hold. Apart from a smartly-attired couple who’d emerged from the Mercedes, the passengers were all women aged from mid-teens to early twenties.
They were a mix of Chinese and North Koreans. The Chinese girls had accents from impoverished Sichuan and Qinghai provinces. They wore bright clothes, had wheeled suitcases and squealed like they were on a school outing. The Koreans were quieter, wore drab clothes and kept their few possessions in old-fashioned suitcases or vinyl shopping bags.
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