‘Something her father can’t give her.’
‘It’s possible that Hongbing is the main motivation, yes. Perhaps all we’re dealing with is a child who wants to be picked up and given a hug. But she’s not naïve. Not any more! When she called the Guardians into existence, she knew exactly what she wanted. A phantom army. She wanted to be a power in the net which put the fear of God into the Party, and for that she had to uncover their machinations and damage their image in order to save China’s. She needed a good year to build up the Guardians technologically.’
Jericho sucked on his cheek. He knew that the discussion had come to an end. Tu wouldn’t give away any more than that.
‘I need any records of Yoyo you can give me,’ he said.
‘There are some here.’ Tu reached down next to him, opened a battered leather case and took a pair of hologoggles and a holostick from it. The stick was smaller than the current models, the glasses elegantly designed. ‘These are prototypes. All the programs for which we used Yoyo as a virtual tour guide are saved on it. You can wander through the clubs with her if you like, visit the Jin Mao Tower and the World Financial Center, roam through the Yu Gardens or go to the MOCA Shanghai.’ He grinned. ‘You’ll have a good time with her. She wrote the texts herself. The stick also contains her personal files, recordings of conversations, photos and films. That’s everything I have.’
‘Nice.’ Jericho rolled the stick between his fingers and looked at the glasses. ‘I’ve got some hologoggles already.’
‘Not like these you haven’t. We were convinced the usual suspects would spy on that product development. But you seem to have scared them off with your last mission. Dao IT is still nursing its bruises.’
Jericho smirked. Dao IT, Tu’s former employer, had been less than pleased to lose its chief development officer for Virtual Environments when he had decided to set up independently. Since then the company had broken into Tu Technologies’ systems multiple times to download trade secrets. Each time, the hackers had hidden their tracks so skilfully that Jericho had had to use all the tricks of his trade to convict them. Tu had presented the evidence to the courts, and Dao IT had had to pay millions in fines.
‘By the way, they made me an offer,’ he said casually.
‘Who?’ Tu sat bolt upright. ‘Dao?’
‘Yes, well, they were impressed. They said if I had managed to track them down, it would be good to have me on their side.’
The manager pushed his construction of glasses up. He smacked his lips together noisily and cleared his throat.
‘I guess they’ve got no shame.’
‘I said no of course,’ said Jericho slowly. Loyalty was a valuable thing. ‘I just thought you might be interested to know.’
‘Of course I would.’ Tu grinned. Then he laughed and slapped Jericho on the shoulder. ‘Get to work then, xiongdi.’
World Financial Center
Grand Cherokee Wang moved his body to an inaudible beat. His head nodded with every step, as if confirming his own coolness. Bouncing at the knees, playing imaginary instruments, he skipped along the glass corridor, clicking his tongue loudly, allowing himself the hint of a swing at the hips and baring his teeth. Oh, how he loved himself! Grand Cherokee Wang, the King of the World. He liked it best up here at night, when he could see his reflection in the glass surface that looked out over the sea of light that was Shanghai: it was as if he were towering out of it in the flesh, a giant! There wasn’t a single shop window on Nanjing Donglu he forgot to pay homage to himself in: his beautifully structured face with the gold applications on his forehead and cheekbones, his shoulder-length blue-black hair, the white PVC jacket, although it was actually too warm for it at this time of year, but never mind. Wang and reflective surfaces were a match made in heaven.
He was right at the top.
At least, he worked right at the top, on the ninety-seventh floor of the World Financial Center, because Wang’s parents had made their financing of his studies dependent on his willingness to contribute to it with earnings of his own. And so that’s what he did. With such dedication that his father began to seriously wonder whether his otherwise less than delightful offspring actually loved working. In reality, though, it was thanks to the nature of this job in particular that Grand Cherokee Wang was now spending more time in the World Financial Center than in the lecture theatre, where his presence was more mandatory. On the other hand, it was clear that for a budding electrical and mechanical engineer, there could hardly be a better field trip than to the ninety-seventh floor of the World Financial Center.
Wang had tried to describe it to his grandmother, who had gone blind at the beginning of the millennium before the building had been completed.
‘Can you remember the Jin Mao Tower?’
‘Of course I can, I’m not stupid. I may be blind, but my memory still works!’
‘Then imagine the bottle opener right behind it. You know, don’t you, that people call it the bottle opener because—’
‘I know they call it that.’
‘But do you know why?’
‘No. But I doubt I’ll be able to stop you from telling me.’
Wang’s grandmother often said that going blind had brought with it a series of advantages, the most pleasing of which was no longer having to see the members of her family.
‘So, listen, it’s a narrow building, with beautifully winding façades. Completely smooth, nothing jutting out, just glass. The sky’s reflected in it, all around the building, like with the Jin Mao Tower. Unbelievable! Almost five hundred metres high, a hundred and one floors. How can I describe the shape? It’s a quadratic structure at ground level, like a completely normal tower, but as you go higher the two sides level out so it gets narrower and narrower at the top, and the roof is a long ledge.’
‘I don’t know if I want to know this much detail.’
‘You do! You have to be able to picture what they’ve managed to construct up there. Originally they planned for a circular opening under the ledge, fifty metres in diameter, but then the Party said it was a no go because of the symbolism. If it was round, it would look like Japan’s Rising Sun—’
‘The Japanese devil!’
‘Exactly, so they built a square opening, fifty by fifty metres. A hole in the heavens. With the angular opening, the whole tower looks like a huge, upright bottle opener, and once it was finished in 2008, everyone called it that; there was nothing they could do about it. The lower section of the hole is a viewing platform with a glass pathway leading up above it. And where it cuts off above, there’s a glass deck, with a glass floor too.’
‘I’ll never go up there!’
‘Listen, this is where it really gets good: in 2020 someone came up with the absolutely crazy idea of building the highest roller-coaster in the world in the opening, the Silver Dragon. Have you heard of it?’
‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’
‘The hole was too small for a complete roller-coaster of course. I mean, it’s huge, but they had something bigger in mind, so they built the roller-coaster station in the opening and laid the track around the building. You climb into the car from the glass corridor, and off it goes, out ten metres beyond the edge of the building, then in a wide arc around the left side column round to the back of the tower. You hang there in the air above Pudong, half a kilometre up in the sky!’
‘That’s crazy!’
‘It’s awesome! At the back, the track climbs steeply towards the roof, circles round the right column and then flows into a long horizontal section which goes up onto the roof edge. Isn’t that wild? Going for a ride on the roof of the World Financial Center!’
‘I’d be dead by the time I got to that bit.’
‘That’s true, most people end up pissing their pants in the first few metres, but that’s nothing yet. On the other side of the edge it suddenly rushes upwards. Into a steep curve! Now the car is really racing! And you know what? It races straight into the hole, into this huge hole, throu
gh under the roof axis, then up again, up, up, up, because you’re in the goddamn looping section, high out over the roof, then steeply back down again, into the hole, around the right column and back upright and into the station, and three rounds of that. Oh man!’
Every time Grand Cherokee talked about it, he went hot and cold with excitement.
‘Shouldn’t you be studying?’
* * *
Should he be? In the glass corridor, hips swinging, watching the queue as it pushed its way forward at the barrier, faces turned towards him – some derailed between anticipation and the rushing onset of panic, some frozen in shock, others transfigured with the look of addiction – Grand Cherokee felt at an irreconcilable distance from the depressive depths of his studies. The university lay half a kilometre below him. He was far too special for an existence spent in lecture halls. Only the knowledge that all the cramming would ultimately enable him to create something even greater than the Silver Dragon kept him at it. He pushed his way through the queue of people to the glass door which separated the corridor from the platform, opened it and grinned around at them.
‘I had to go and pee,’ he said jovially.
Some of them pushed their way forward. Others took a step back, as if he had just summoned them for execution. He closed the door behind him, walked into the neighbouring glass-panelled room which housed the computer console, and awoke the dragon. Screens rekindled and lights flickered as the system loaded up. A number of monitors showed the individual sections of the track. The Silver Dragon was easy to operate, idiot-proof to be precise, but the people waiting outside didn’t know that. For them, he was the magician in his crystal chamber. He was the Silver Dragon! Without Grand Cherokee, there was no ride.
He made the conjoined wagons roll back a little to the only section of the track that was surrounded by bars. They shimmered alluringly in the sun, barely more than silver surf boards on rails. The passengers were safely and securely buckled into their seats, but the ride was designed to be open-plan. No railing to give the illusion that there was anything to hold on to during the loop-the-loop. Nothing to distract you from looking down into the depths. The dragon knew no mercy.
He opened the glass door. Most held their mobile phones or e-tickets in front of the scanner, others had bought a ticket in the foyer. Once two dozen adrenalinjunkies had crossed through to the platform, he closed the door again. A chrome-plated barrier pushed down and opened the way into the dragon. Grand Cherokee helped the passengers into the seats, tested the supports and sent looks of reassurance into each pair of eyes. A female tourist, Scandinavian in appearance, smiled at him shyly.
‘Scared?’ he asked, in English.
‘Excited,’ she whispered.
Oh, she was scared all right! How wonderful! Grand Cherokee leaned over to her.
‘When the ride’s over, I’ll show you the control room,’ he said. ‘Would you like to see the control room?’
‘Oh, that would be – that would be great.’
‘But only if you’re brave.’ He grinned, giving her a captivating smile. The blonde woman exhaled and smiled at him gratefully.
‘I will be. I promise.’
Grand Cherokee Wang! The King of the Dragon.
Pacing quickly, he was back in the chamber again. His fingers whizzed over the computer table. Rail security on, start train. It was that easy. That’s how quickly you could send people on an unforgettable ride between heaven and hell. The dragon left its barred cage and pushed out over the platform edge, speeding up and disappearing from view. Grand Cherokee turned round. Through the glass corridor he could see the powerful side columns, positioned far apart from one another, segmented into penthouse-size floors, and above him the glass-floored observatory which rose to dizzying heights. Visitors were moving about in it as if they were on black ice, looking down to the corridor fifty metres below with its roller-coaster station, where the next group of daredevils was already starting to gather. And everyone was staring at the left tower, from behind which the train was now pushing its way slowly forwards, to climb to the top of the slope, up to the roof, then disappear from view once more.
Grand Cherokee glanced at the monitor.
The wagons were getting closer to the edge of the roof. Beyond it, the track plummeted. He waited. It was the moment he enjoyed the most whenever he had the opportunity to ride along. The first time was the best. The sensation that the rails just suddenly went into the void. To plunge over the edge without anything to grip on to. Thinking the unthinkable, just before the dragon tipped and your gaze rushed ahead into the steep downward curve, before the boiling adrenalin washed every rational thought out of the convolutions of your brain and your lungs expanded into a scream. Tumbling head over heels towards the station, being thrown upside down, finding yourself weightless above the roof and, immediately afterwards, in the racing climb back up to the top.
The cars came back into view.
Fascinated, Grand Cherokee looked up. Time seemed to stand still.
Then the Silver Dragon plunged into the somersault.
He heard the screams even through the glass.
What a moment! What a demonstration of its power over body and spirit, and, in turn, what a triumph to ride the dragon, to control it! A feeling of invulnerability overcame Grand Cherokee. He tried to grab a seat on the ride at least once a day, because he was fearless, free from fear of heights, just as he was free of self-doubt, free of shame and scruples, free of the cantankerous voice of reason.
Free of caution.
While two dozen Dragon riders were experiencing their neuro-chemical inferno above him, he pulled his mobile out and dialled a number.
‘I’ve got something,’ he said, trying to stretch the words out so he sounded bored.
‘You know where the girl is?’
‘I think so.’
‘Wonderful! That’s really wonderful!’ The man’s voice sounded relieved and grateful. Grand Cherokee curled the corner of his mouth. The guy could try as hard as he liked to play the dear uncle, but it was obvious he wasn’t looking for Yoyo so he could take care of her. He was probably Secret Service, or the police. It didn’t matter. The fact was, he had money, and he was prepared to part with some of it. For that the guy would get information that Grand Cherokee didn’t even have, because in actual fact he didn’t have the faintest idea where she was, nor where she might be. Nor did he know who or what had caused the girl to go into hiding, or even whether she really had gone into hiding at all or perhaps had just taken off on holiday without telling anyone. His stock of knowledge on the matter was as empty as his bank account.
On the other hand, he wondered what it would sound like if he told the truth:
‘Yoyo works in the World Financial Center with Tu Technologies downstairs. I’m in charge of the roller-coaster station at the top, for everyone who wants to piss their pants up here in zero gravity. That’s how I met her. She turned up here because she wanted to ride the Dragon. So I let her have a ride and then afterwards I showed her how you steer the Dragon, and she thought it was – well—’
The truth, Grand Cherokee, the truth!
‘—she thought it was a damn sight cooler than I was, even though that usually does the trick, I mean, letting them ride for free, then a trip with me, then a drink afterwards, see? She was crazy about the Dragon, and was looking for a place to crash because she wasn’t getting on well with her old man or something, and Li and I happened to have a room free. Although – Li wasn’t too happy about it. He says girls disrupt the chemistry, especially when they look like Yoyo, because if they do you end up thinking with your cock instead of your brain and then friendships fall apart, but I insisted, and Yoyo moved in. That was only two weeks ago.’
End of story. Or, perhaps just a little more:
‘I thought that if Yoyo stayed with us I’d manage to get her into bed, but no such luck. She’s a party girl; she sings and likes everything, which I like about her, even though it’s incompr
ehensible.’
And then:
‘Sometimes I saw her hanging around with guys from the real down-and-out neighbourhoods. Biker types. Could be a gang. They have these stickers on their jackets: City Demons, I think. Yeah, City Demons.’
This was the only thing that was worthy of being called information.
But he’d be lucky to get any money for that. So it was time to make something up.
‘So where is she now?’ the voice on the phone wanted to know.
Cherokee hesitated. ‘We shouldn’t discuss that on the—’
‘Where are you? I can come right away.’
‘No, no, I can’t right now. Not today. Let’s say first thing tomorrow. Around eleven.’
‘Eleven isn’t first thing.’ The other man paused. ‘If I understood you correctly, you want to earn some money, right?’
‘You did understand me correctly! And you want something from me, don’t you? So who makes the rules?’
‘You, my friend.’ Was it his imagination, or could he hear the man laughing softly? ‘But how about ten regardless?’
Grand Cherokee thought for a moment. He had to tend to the roller-coaster at ten; it opened at half past. But on the other hand, perhaps it was a good idea to speak to Mister Big Money alone. If notes were going to change hands, the fewer onlookers there were the better, and at ten they would be completely alone: him, the man and the dragon.
‘That’s fine.’ Besides, by then he would have thought of something. ‘I’ll let you know where you need to come.’
‘Good.’
‘And bring a nice bulging wallet with you.’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t give you cause to complain.’
That sounded good.
Did it sound good? The cars rushed in and braked to a halt. The ride was over. Grand Cherokee looked over at the twenty-four pairs of trembling knees. He mentally prepared himself to provide support to the weakest ones.
Yes, it sounded good all right!
Jericho
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