by Nigel Price
Miller opened the front passenger door for Harry. In the back seat Harry could see Lisa. She looked tired and scared and waved lamely when she saw him. Harry got in. Miller went round to the driver’s door, got in and started the engine.
“Can you take us to the bus station, please?” Harry asked, adding, “Though we need to pick up our stuff from The Golden Lotus on the way.” He turned to Lisa. She reached between the seats and gripped his hand, smiling at him with relief. “It’ll be good to get back to Beijing.”
They turned out into traffic and headed away from the police station. “There’s no need for us to go to The Golden Lotus,” Miller said. “I’ve already got your kit. The police had it. They put it in the boot. I’m sure it’s all there.”
“Oh. Good. It was a lousy hotel in any case. Glad to see the back of it,” Harry said. Miller chuckled dutifully. “So bus station and then onto Beijing,” Harry added.
“Er, not quite,” Miller replied, smiling at the traffic around him.
“You mean you’re going to drive us all the way back to Beijing yourself?” Harry asked. The thought of making the journey in such a motor was massively preferable to the smelly old bus.
Miller laughed aloud. “Good heavens no. You’re not going back to Beijing at all. At least not yet.”
Harry settled back in his seat. I see. Here we go. Belatedly, pieces started to slot into place. “This is a very fine motor for the embassy,” he observed. Miller said nothing. He was too busy grinning at the surrounding traffic. And why would a representative of the British Embassy have interested themselves with Lisa, a Chinese citizen?
Harry turned in his seat to look at him in profile. “You’re not with the embassy, are you?”
“Not exactly, no.”
“Right.” Harry put the bits together, trying out different variations. “Who are you and who do you work for?”
“Clive Miller, as I said,” Clive Miller said. “But I work for Mr Chau Kar-wai.”
The name was familiar to Harry, but not immediately so. From the back seat Lisa shot forward, projecting her face between the two front seats to join them. “Ryder Chau?”
Miller swelled with delighted self-importance. “That’s the man.”
Harry looked from one to the other. “Ryder Chau? Why do I know that name?”
In answer Lisa stretched an arm past him and pointed out of his window. “There,” she said. Harry followed the direction towards the wall of a vast shopping mall. Posters covered it, each emblazoned with Chinese writing, meaning nothing to him. The central and largest picture showed a Chinese man in sharp western suit, collar and shiny tie, looking enigmatically into the middle distance. It was as if he was regarding a vision only he could see. A head of thick black hair was scrupulously groomed and oiled. The lips were slightly pursed but Harry could imagine they concealed a set of expensively perfect teeth.
“Haven’t you heard of Ryder Chau?” Miller said as if asking a child if they had heard of ice cream.
“Clearly not to the extent that Lisa has,” Harry replied.
Lisa ended his humiliation. “Ryder Chau is one of the most powerful men in China.”
Miller was delighted. Had he not been steering the BMW Harry felt sure he would have applauded. Instead he added, “And if next week’s National Congress goes as intended, then he will be even more powerful. Perhaps even the top job.”
Lisa sank back in her seat. Harry turned briefly to look at her. She met his eyes but glanced away quickly. Miller was watching her in his rear-view mirror. She had folded her arms across her chest. Tightly.
Harry could feel cogs turning in his still-pounding brain. “So … what interest can Ryder Chau possibly have in us? And how is it that he – you – can just walk us out of prison?” He thought again. “And where are you taking us?”
Nineteen
Darkness was falling. Harry realised that it was twenty-four hours since he had last eaten. He had no idea where they were. They seemed to be heading out of the city. Miller had turned onto a highway and put his foot down. The beautiful car had surged at his command with a smooth growling purr.
For a moment Harry considered telling him to take them to the bloody bus station or he would punch his lights out. On instant reflection he realised that would be dumb as well as ignorant. He was confident he could overpower the man. Miller was alone and Harry was pretty sure the fellow wouldn’t have a clue how to fight. His hands were soft, almost effeminate. By instinct Harry had glanced at the knuckles. Pure as driven snow. In contrast Harry did press-ups on his. This man had never been in a scrap in his life.
Nor was there any telltale bulge of a gun under or in his blazer. He was unarmed. Nor were they being tailed by an accompanying vehicle laden with machine gun-toting hoods.
Miller was trusting them to go along with him. He meant them no harm. Everything was above board and hunky-dory. Swimmingly so.
“So you are taking us to …?”
“We are deeply regretful of the way you have been treated in Chengde,” Miller recited.
“We?”
“Mr Chau became aware of your encounter with the law and your unfortunate detention.”
“How?” Harry asked.
Miller chuckled as if the answer was obvious. “Mr Chau is aware of everything that happens in his home city. Everything of interest. And the detention of a westerner is of interest.”
“I see,” said Harry.
Lisa piped up from the back. “Chengde is Ryder Chau’s power base,” she explained to Harry. He felt she was about to say more but had thought better of it.
“Okay. So where are we going?”
“Mr Chau sent me personally to see to your release. He wants the two of you to be accommodated in comfort until you are conveyed back to Beijing. Look upon it as making amends. We wouldn’t want you to think we were inhospitable.”
Harry thought of being slugged over the head and then imprisoned. ‘Inhospitable’ was one word for it. He half wondered if they were being taken somewhere even worse than the prison. His tired imagination started to run away with him. Calm down. He got a grip of his paranoia. Why not just go along for the ride? If Miller and his boss meant them any harm, they had already had their chance in the police station. They could have done whatever they wanted with them there. Why not see where all this was going?
He glanced back at Lisa and smiled at her. She wasn’t looking. She was staring stonily out of her window at the tree-covered hillsides whizzing past through the deepening gloom. He caught sight of her reflection in her window. She was looking straight at him, her eyes boring into his. When she saw he had noticed, she widened her eyes in a dramatic ‘we’re in deep shit’ look. Harry got the message loud and clear. It didn’t change his mind. He relaxed into his black leather seat, indulging himself for the moment in the comfort of the drive.
The hills shot past and the darkness became complete until they were speeding through the tight bright tunnel of the car’s headlights. On its edges, things appeared in flash-form. A tree. A boulder. An animal, eyes wide glimpses of terror. Harry felt himself starting to doze off. A glance at Lisa showed that even she was succumbing to the smooth purr of the engine, fatigue trumping fear. Harry’s eyelids felt made of lead. He looked at Miller. Even in his concentration, the remnants of Miller’s smile creased his face. It was like the echo of Big Bang, detectable long after the event.
The scrunch of gravel and the slow braking of the car snapped Harry back to full consciousness. Smack in front of them stood vast iron gates filling the windscreen. They were the sort of high arched gates that made Harry think of a horror movie. They would conceal the entrance to a long winding driveway leading up to the haunted castle. Miller reached across Harry and took a fob from the glove compartment, directed it at the gates and pressed. A tiny red light flashed and outside the car the gates thought about it for a second, then opened in a series of lurches, the right-hand gate smoother than the left. The car moved forward. Once through, the
gates lurched closed behind them.
Sliding on through the darkness, the headlights did indeed pick out a long winding driveway. Harry smiled. Trees leaned over the gravelled drive concealing what lay in front. He sincerely hoped it would be the castle of his imagination. A moment later he was disappointed. The full impressive frontage of a sprawling villa extended before them. It was more a complex of buildings rather than a single structure. Harry couldn’t help himself from viewing it with a professional eye. The architect had been guided as much by security concerns as by aesthetics.
There were few windows at ground level, just a small round porthole to either side of the double-doored main entrance. A balcony circuited an upper floor, the balustrade at waist height. Vegetation had been cleared from around the buildings. Harry could imagine there were clear fields of observation and fire in all directions.
He got a grip of himself. What the hell was he doing? His imagination was running riot. It was the home of a politician, for goodness’ sake. Not a Japanese bunker on Iwo Jima. He really did need to grow up. No wonder his post-army career had been limited to disaster planning rather than something lucrative in the city. His whole life had been a bloody disaster. The irony was that he had been unable to plan his way out of it.
The BMW drew to a halt. On cue, a man in white high-necked Mao jacket bundled out of the building and shot across to open car doors for them. Miller got out and gabbled something at him. The man shot away with an answering nod.
“Here we are,” Miller said grandly. Harry doubted this was Miller’s residence. The big man’s then. He got out and stretched. His joints cracked. The prison bed hadn’t done him any favours.
“You must be hungry.” Miller went to the boot. “This your stuff?”
Harry and Lisa saw the holdall and the pink backpack neatly aligned. They hauled them out.
“Follow me.” Miller led the way. However, instead of going into the main entrance, he veered off along the front wall, treading noisily along a deep gravel path. Harry noted that the surface would make it well nigh impossible for anyone to approach the villa stealthily. The gravel provided yet another layer of security. He wondered if Miller might have had some role in the design.
Around a corner and along another path, they came to a cluster of out-buildings, small self-contained apartments. It was like a holiday complex. Maybe there were bicycles for hire? An aerobics class to sign up for?
Miller opened the door to one of them and stood aside for Harry to enter. “I thought you’d be comfortable in here.” He darted a couple of paces across the path to the door opposite and opened that for Lisa. “And you in here, Ms Tang,” he added, the perfect host. “Dump your bags, freshen up and then come round to the front entrance and we’ll sort out some supper for you.”
When he was left alone, Harry hefted his holdall onto the bed and unzipped it. The contents had been ransacked but everything appeared to be there. He checked the bathroom. All the usual amenities. He quickly stripped off and had a shower. Slipping into fresh clothes, he put on his shoes and went across to Lisa’s door. He knocked. Lisa answered. Similarly showered and changed, she surprised him with an awkward greeting hug.
“Harry, this is not good. We have to get out of here,” she gabbled. “We cannot have anything to do with Ryder Chau. He can do anything he wants.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he is at the very top of power in China. If he wants us to disappear he can make it happen.” She clicked her fingers. Fresh from the shower they refused to cooperate. She repeated it with only slightly more success.
“Then obviously we are safe. If he wanted to do that he would have done so already. I’d say he has set his flunky to find out what we’re up to.”
“Flunky?”
“Sidekick. Lickspittle. Functionary. Aide. Miller.”
They retraced their steps back to the front entrance, found the bell and pressed it. A small quizzical face peered at them from the nearest of the round windows and the door opened. It was the servant in the white coat. He let them in and showed them into a dining room. On the way Harry noted the furnishings. Expensive and tasteless. Vast murals of Chinese landscapes were painted in a traditional style, calligraphy hunched in the corners. Lacquerware and folding screens were similarly decorated. There were old black and white photographs of people, ancestors, Harry presumed. A grim-looking man alongside an even grimmer-looking woman. She had some manner of ornament around her head like a tiara only bigger and cruder and flashier. Vases and flower arrangements stood wherever there was space for them, and in the centre of a capacious atrium, an enormously fat gold-coloured Buddha roared with eternal laughter at the greatest joke in creation. Harry wondered if he and Lisa were the subject matter.
Miller waited for them in the dining room. He sat them down. “As it’s getting late I thought a simple meal would be best.” A second waiter materialised to assist the first, identically dressed. White Mao jacket, black trousers and rope-soled black slippers. A series of dishes was laid before them. “Tuck in.” They didn’t need encouragement.
“How long have you worked for Mr Chau?” Harry asked. A pot of tea had been placed on the table, their cups filled.
“More years than I care to remember,” Miller answered unhelpfully. “Ryder finds it helpful to have someone he can trust to give him advice when dealing with western interests.”
“And what sort of interests might those be?” Harry asked.
“All sorts of things.” Miller smiled. He was annoying Harry. “Things like this, for example.”
“Like us?”
“Yes. The police told me you have been to see Herbert Zhu. I should caution you about Herbert. He’s a lovely chap, but quite bonkers.”
Harry drained his cup and placed it carefully on the table. “Forgive me, but what on earth has that got to do with you or Mr Chau? Surely what we choose to do is our own affair? I don’t want to be rude, Clive, especially as you were kind enough to bail us out of jail, but I don’t see our business in Chengde is any of your business.”
Miller smiled sweetly. “You’re not in England now, Harry. This is China.”
“I’m well aware of where I am, thank you.” Harry felt Lisa’s hand on his arm, steadying him.
“Ms Tang understands, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I understand that here it is power that counts. Not human rights.”
Miller showed his disappointment with a pained expression. “And whose rights are you talking about?”
“I suspect you know,” Lisa said.
“I assure you I don’t,” Miller countered. “I was made aware that an Englishman had been detained and was instructed to ride to the rescue.”
“Do you do that whenever a foreigner is picked up by the police in Chengde?” Harry asked. “It must keep you awfully busy. I’m surprised you have time for anything else.”
Miller’s laugh was genial if a little forced. “Only those who have been to see Herbert Zhu. He is a particular thorn in Mr Chau’s side from time to time. He can be quite annoying.”
“Human rights often are to a certain breed of politician,” Lisa said stridently.
Miller spread his hands on the bare table as if smoothing out a cloth. “Oh dear. I’m afraid we’ve got off to a bad start. I really didn’t mean to upset you. Why don’t we all sleep on it and talk in the morning when you’ll both be rested.”
Harry saw that Lisa was about to let rip. He forestalled her. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Lisa, shall we leave Clive in peace? I think we both owe him our thanks for bailing us out this evening.”
She picked up his note of caution and fell into line. Her smile was conciliatory verging on sweet. “Yes. That’s a good idea.” They got up and said goodnight, making their way back towards their apartments. Miller’s phone was ringing when they left him. As the big front doors closed behind them, Harry looked back through one of the little porthole windows at the side.
Through the
thick glass he could see Miller answering his phone. For the first time since they had met, there was no hint of a smile. His face was pale, his eyes far away. He was talking into the phone clamped to his ear, but his expression was that of a man with a gun to his head.
Twenty
It was no surprise to Harry that exhaustion was not rewarded with a restful sleep. He had gone beyond the point where such an easy rescue was on offer. Instead he was on a rocky hillside. Like most dreamscapes it was a strange amalgam. The ground beneath his comrades had erupted with a concealed explosive device. There was a leg to one side, divorced from its owner. The ambush had been covered by sniper and machine gun fire which had started immediately following the detonation. It was coming from several directions.
The replay of events was muddled. It mostly resembled an incident that had happened on his third tour in Afghanistan, but elements from elsewhere intruded. At one point he was expected at a performance of some kind. There were great expectations laid upon him by people who looked to him for a lead. He could feel the self-doubt gnawing at him. Fear that he would be found wanting. Fail to measure up. And that dark figure glimpsed at the periphery of his vision. Always just out of view. Always in pursuit.
He woke from the dream covered in a sheen of perspiration though the night was cold. He threw off his duvet and sat up. He had gone to bed naked. He got up and padded across to the bathroom and poured himself a glass of water and drank it. He assumed the tap water in a home belonging to such a prestigious man would be fit to drink. He missed his bottle of Scotch. A shot right now would have done wonders.
The window was covered with vertical slats. He tweaked the draw chord, opening them a crack. The view was of a broad lawn leading down to trees. He recalled the huge entrance gates and thought there had been a high wall on either side of them. It probably ringed the entire estate.
On an impulse he slipped into trousers and tee shirt and gingerly opened the door. The night air was bracing but at least it was clean out here in the hills this far from the city. He looked up. Still no stars. Nothing. Cloudy as ever. The gravel beneath his bare feet was unpleasant to walk on. As he had guessed, it magnified the sound of his footfall so moving across it took an age. When he stepped onto the grass a heavy dew felt wonderful after the sharpness of the stones. He checked around but could see no one. It might be that the lawn was covered by cameras. Perhaps someone was watching him at that moment, snug in a control room, wondering where he was off to. Harry wondered that himself.
