A Killing Air

by Nigel Price

  “Ah. And as part of his re-education he had an affair with a local.” Which makes you a bastard in more ways than one. Harry kept that to himself.

  “I’m impressed that you’ve managed to keep it a secret all these years. If not, you wouldn’t have got anywhere near the position you’ve achieved, if your Han Chinese comrades had found out.”

  Chau didn’t answer. Miller’s car was leading, Lisa guiding him. Chau followed close behind.

  Harry had another question. “Why are there tanks and troops on the street today?”

  “Normal security precautions for the Congress,” Chau replied.

  Harry smiled. “Something’s leaked out, hasn’t it? They’re onto you.”

  “Shut up.”

  “That’s why you need the SIM card. You’re losing control and you’ve got to make sure there’s nothing to implicate you.”

  Chau barked something unintelligible at Gun Man who used his free hand to slap Harry round the face. Harry felt his brain rattle. There was a ringing in his ears. He longed to be able to return the courtesy but now was not the time.

  The two-car convoy rolled away from the Forbidden City, heading back out towards the abandoned Chery. Chau flicked on the headlights. Their thin beams cut into the yellow smog. It closed around the cars until they were edging down a tunnel.

  “Where the hell’s your car?” Chau snapped when they had been driving for some time. Harry sat forward, ignoring the warning pistol jab in his side. He looked through the gap in the high-backed front seats. The rear lights of Miller’s car were ringed with red haloes like the eyes of a devil. He wondered if Lisa had got lost. It would be easy enough to do in this muck. Retracing steps, seeing a route from the reverse direction, could be disorientating.

  “Perhaps you should have put me with Miller,” Harry said with relish, enjoying Chau’s impatience. “Tell me, Ryder. Where do they send high-ranking fellows like you who get found out? I mean, house arrest for the remainder of your natural life would seem a bit lenient for treason. Terrorism, even.”

  Again Chau snarled something at Gun Man, with the same result as before, only this time harder. Harry’s ears rang again, little bells tinkling in his skull. He shook his head to clear them.

  He tried again. “What did you hope to achieve by making it to the top? Surely you didn’t think that you could do anything to change the whole direction of China?”

  Chau’s face was a grim mask. “I don’t give a damn about China. China subjugates minorities like the Uyghurs. And all the others. Tibetans, all of them. The only way to bring it to an end is to end the rule of the Communist Party.”

  Harry stared at him. “How on earth did you intend to do that?”

  “Simple. War.”

  “You mean an armed insurrection?”

  “No, Harry. I mean war. With Japan. With the Philippines. With Vietnam. With Malaysia. With Taiwan. Wherever there are territorial disputes, war with the lot of them.”

  “With America? You know they’re quite fond of Japan now they’re no longer dropping atom bombs on them.”

  “If necessary. A war big enough to bring about the collapse of the Party, the dismemberment of the country, the end of domination by the Han Chinese. That is my intention when I make it to the top. It’ll take time, but it will happen. And then the minorities will be free.”

  Harry sat back, dumbfounded. “You’re mad. Stark, staring mad. You really should find yourself a hollow volcano and a white cat.” He smiled. “And all of it’s under threat because one old woman wouldn’t accept your blood money.”

  Chau turned in his seat and glared long and hard at Harry. With relish he spoke to Gun Man. “Kill him.”

  The car slammed into the back of Miller’s halted BMW. Chau shot forward and whacked his head against the rim of the steering wheel. The Sniper was thrown forward across the dashboard. Gun Man and Sidekick were both catapulted into the backs of the seats in front of them, their weapons tumbling to the floor.

  Harry was the only one who had seen the collision coming. After all, he’d planned it.

  God, I thought that would take forever. He went into action.

  Gun Man first. The most savage punches Harry could muster. His clenched fist was a pile-driver ranging across Gun Man’s kidneys, throat, temple, and eyes. Sidekick was just starting to recover by the time Harry got to him several seconds later. Two elbow strikes followed by a similar quiver of arrows that had been fired into Gun Man, and he was beaten senseless too. The Sniper was out cold, or pretty much. Ryder Chau was groaning like a toddler who’d been eating more sweeties than were good for him.

  Harry punched and kicked his way out of the rear door. In the street he ran for Miller’s car. Tore open the rear door just in time to receive a flying foot from Lisa. He slapped it aside, grabbed her clothing and dragged her out. The interior of the car was a mess of tangled bodies, the occupants thrown about by the impact of Chau’s car up their arse.

  Lisa blinked at Harry viciously until her brain cleared and she recognised him. She flung her arms round his neck. He peeled them off. “Where’s the bloody car?”

  “Straight ahead,” she answered blearily. To his dismay she added, “I think.”

  “Fuck sake.” A shot rang out and the window in Miller’s open door shattered. A bloodied, drunk-looking Gun Man took aim for a second shot. Harry ducked as it snapped at him.

  Then they were running. Harry and Lisa, hand in hand. For all they were worth. The smog closed about them, for once aiding rather than killing them.

  “I got this off Wai,” Lisa panted as she ran helter-skelter alongside Harry. He felt her shoving something against his chest. His free hand closed around metal. A pistol.

  “Nothing bigger?”

  “Piss off,” she panted.

  He took his other hand out of hers and checked it was cocked as he ran. Checked the safety was off. There was a shout and Lisa went down. A jagged edge of paving stone jutted upwards. She was on her feet in an instant, wincing.

  “My ankle,” she said.

  “Can you run?”

  She did so, a hobbling, limping, gangly gait that did its best to keep pace with Harry. They were in a side street. No one in sight. Just the edges blurred with smog. A shot rang out. Then a whole fusillade. The air around them crackled with bullets trying to find them.

  “Someone’s got an automatic.”

  “No kidding,” Lisa answered. “No one could ever doubt you were a soldier,” she added as a second burst of fire stated the bloody obvious.

  To keep running in a straight line was going to invite a bullet in the back. Sooner or later the firer would get lucky. Harry shoved Lisa to the floor. “Lie flat.”

  He turned to face the incoming bursts, brought his pistol into a two-handed grip, pointed it into the smog and waited. Burst after burst spat at them, each one louder than the last. It was an advance to contact. Getting closer. Any moment now.

  The next burst came and Harry had what he wanted. The muzzle flash through the smog. He aimed and fired. Two shots. Both aimed directly above the flash. There was an audible grunt. The satisfying clatter of dropped gun. The next moment, Sidekick staggered into view, hands clutching his gut as he crumpled and fell.

  Gun Man appeared. Snatched up the weapon and with a howl of rage let rip, emptying the magazine at the target he could now see. Harry hit the deck. Brought his gun into the aim and fired.

  Stoppage. Fuck. Snapped open the slide and shook the open breach to dislodge the empty case that had failed to eject.

  Gun Man had seen and was running at him, coming on with the speed and force of a truck. Harry cleared the empty case. Re-cocked the weapon and was bringing it into a fresh aim when Gun Man crashed headlong into him and the two men went down in a tangle of limbs and grunts.

  Harry shook his head clear, his grazed and aching limbs snapping to attention as adrenaline flooded his system prepping him to fight. Gun Man whipped out a knife and slashed at Harry’s face. Harry skidded bac
k across the road and darted to his feet. He faced Gun Man in a crouch, the two of them circling for an opening.

  Gun Man saw one and leapt in, the blade to the fore. It was a feint. Harry palmed it aside while his other hand slammed its edge into the side of Gun Man’s neck. Harry went in for the killer blow but Gun Man slashed at him again, a backhanded swipe as if he was ripping open a curtain. The tip of the blade sliced through the front of Harry’s shirt. He felt the sting of steel on his stomach. Didn’t have time to check the damage. For all he knew he’d been opened like the Titanic and his guts were spilling out. Tough shit, Harry. There’d be sod all he could do about it, so best not to know. He’d find out soon enough.

  They weren’t.

  He went in again. Laid hold of Gun Man’s arm and neck and tried to throw him. It was ugly and messy and his old instructors would have howled abuse at him for style. Instead of a neat throw, Gun Man scrabbled, regaining balance and thrusting his knife back at Harry’s abdomen.

  Harry saw what he meant and let it in. Ducked back, grabbed the wrist in both hands and turned it. As Gun Man’s momentum powered him forward, Harry stuffed the blade deep into him. Gun Man doubled. With a deep and ominous oof, his mouth and eyes opened to have a last good long take on the world. He sank to his knees.

  Harry helped him on his way with a shove and stood back as the body tilted to one side then toppled over.

  That’s for Mrs Yan.

  Fifty Three

  “Harry.” He heard his name come at him out of the smog and fog and general crap. It was Miller.

  “Ignore him,” he hissed at Lisa. “Where’s the car?”

  “Over here.” She led him into the smog, heading in the opposite direction to Miller. After a few yards they found it, exactly where they had left it. A parking ticket had been slapped on the windscreen. The wheel had been clamped.

  Harry opened the door and looked around inside. The SIM was nowhere to be seen. “Lisa, when you pulled the gun out of my pocket, show me how you did it, where your hands moved.”

  She stared at him as if he was mad. “Let me have a look.” Harry gave way to her. She hunted under the seats, under the floor carpets. Susan had kept the car in perfect condition. Until it had come into the possession of Harry and Lisa.

  “I don’t understand. It’s not here.”

  “It must be. Where else can it be?”

  “Anywhere, I suppose. The point is, if it’s lost, then Ryder’s got nothing to worry about.”

  “And we don’t have anything to hold over him. He goes free and we’re fucked.”

  “Harry!” Miller’s call came again, closer this time. “Give us the SIM card. I know you’ve got a gun. So have we. More of them than you have.” There was a pause. “How much do you want?”

  “How much is on offer?” Harry called. He needed time.

  It was Ryder Chau who answered. “Name your price. Just hand over the SIM card.”

  “So you can start a war and leave your whole country in ruins. You’re mad, Ryder. I’ve no loyalties to the Chinese Communist Party, and I’m sure the minorities have justified gripes, but they’re not my gripes. A war won’t help anyone. You’ll end up back in the old warlord days, the nation fragmented and lawless.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” Chau shouted back. From the direction of his voice Harry guessed that they had split up. Ryder Chau was working round to the right, Miller and whoever was with him to the left.

  Ah, zee old classic pincer movement, Harry. The encircling buffalo horns of the Zulu impi. It put him in a predicament. Also, the moment they knew he didn’t have what they wanted, they’d kill both him and Lisa and be done with it.

  “The Communist Party’s had its day, Harry. As you say, it’s nothing to do with you, so give me the SIM and walk free.”

  Best offer you’ve had all day, Harry. So he decided to do just that, with the exception of handing over the SIM. Which he didn’t have.

  “This way,” he whispered to Lisa. “Stay low.” They went barely a dozen steps when two figures appeared out of the smog. The Wrestler and Wai. Harry aimed and fired. The Wrestler snatched at his shoulder with a howl of pain and darted sideways for cover. Mr Wai ducked and brought up a gun of his own, blatting off two rounds in quick succession.

  “We’re surrounded,” Lisa said. She crouched as Wai’s bullets spat overhead, both missing. From behind came a burst of fire from a rifle. The Sniper had woken up and joined in the fun. Then from another angle altogether someone else decided to have a crack at them. Miller?

  “God, has someone given that cretin a gun?” Harry said. He aimed in the rough direction and fired a shot. There was a shuffling sound and a clatter. “Clive’s probably shitting himself.” Lisa didn’t have time to find it funny. She was too busy lying flat on the road trying to disappear as Mr Wai emptied his whole magazine in their direction, reloaded, and started into the new mag.

  Harry spun towards the silhouette of him, aimed and fired. Two shots. The outline that was Wai staggered but kept on firing.

  “This is a bloody mess,” Harry said. To prove him right, bullets snapped at him again from the direction of Miller. Then another narrowly over the top of his head from The Sniper’s rifle behind him.

  “Enough!” a voice yelled. “Stop firing!”

  It was Chau. The command was ruined by a shot from The Sniper which drowned it out. Mr Wai chose his moment to empty his second mag at Harry and Lisa. Lisa let out a yelp as she was hit. Wai heard it and started to work through a third mag. He was up now, walking slowly out of the mist towards them. His posture told Harry he’d been hit. Harry aimed and fired.

  Nothing. The firing pin clicked harmlessly. He was out of ammo. Again.

  “Not a good time to run out of ammo, Harry.” Miller.

  “I was just thinking the same thing myself,” Harry shouted into the smog. “Which is why I’ve reloaded.” He shifted to Lisa’s side and started to check her for the wound. She was clutching her left upper arm, her face wincing when he touched it.

  “You shouldn’t tell lies,” came Miller’s response. “Shame you didn’t go to a decent school.”

  “What? You mean like the one that turned you into the lickspittle of a megalomaniac terrorist, prepared to bring down a country and start a regional war to get even with the chaps who might have thought ill of his philandering dad?”

  He would have embellished the insults, which he thought rather good in the circumstances. But there was a shout from the direction of The Sniper. He could also hear other shouts further away but closing.

  “Soldiers?” Lisa asked, grimacing with pain.

  “They’ve heard the shooting.” Harry ran a hand through his pockets looking for something to use as a tourniquet for her arm. The bleeding was getting worse however hard she squeezed it.

  “Am I going to die, Harry?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “That’s not very nice.” She looked as if she didn’t know whether to be hurt or to cry.

  Finding nothing in his own pockets, Harry ran through hers. He turfed out the contents of her nearest jacket pocket. Perfect! A handkerchief. He ripped it to form a long strip and fastened it around her arm as tightly as he could. It helped but the bleeding continued, though slower.

  He placed her hand over the bandaged wound. “Keep the pressure on.” He could see her face was paler than before. Shock setting in as the loss of blood started to tell.

  “Harry, there,” she said lamely.

  He stared into the mist at the approaching figure of Wai. “I see him,” he said.

  “No, there.” She tugged weakly at his sleeve and pointed. Lying on the road’s surface was the SIM card. Turfed out of her pocket along with the handkerchief. Out of the pocket it had fallen into when she had rummaged for Harry’s pistol a thousand years before.

  Harry saw it at the same moment as Mr Wai. The two of them threw themselves at it, meeting in mid-air en route. Wai was wounded, Harry wasn’t. He fired a punch at Wai’s face
, the fresh scabs on his knuckles breaking anew. Wai fought back, shouting that he had got the SIM. Which he did, though only for a second. Then he was clubbed unconscious by a chop to the side of his throat from Harry.

  The Wrestler lurched towards the tangled mess of bodies.

  Oh for fuck’s sake. How many more? But he too had been winged. So there was another messy scuffle as he went for the tiny shiny card. Harry’s legs were all over the place, exhaustion taking command of the ship. It took a fistful of blows to lay out the Wrestler. Again.

  Harry picked up the SIM card and turned. The Sniper regarded him, a cool stare over the top of the levelled rifle. His forehead was a mess from its collision with Chau’s dashboard. He shouted his triumph over his shoulder into the foul mist, his eyes never leaving his point of aim. Harry’s chest. Lisa sat slumped on the ground, fighting to retain consciousness.

  From off to a flank Miller approached. Harry could tell from the way he held a gun that it was probably the first one he had ever held. Certainly outside the sanitised environment of a range. As if it was a truculent rat that might as readily bite him as the proffered morsel it was intended to go for. His ineptitude was matched by a suitably Flashman sneer.

  “Harry, old boy. What’s that common phrase? Oh yes. ‘Gotcha’.” He was delighted with his wit. Turning into the smog he hailed the Chief. “Ryder, it’s over. We’ve got him. The card as well.”

  No reply.

  “Ryder!” Miller called again. The Sniper risked a glance of his own, taking his eyes off Harry for only a second.

  A second was all that Harry needed. He grabbed the muzzle of the rifle, and with his full strength jabbed the weapon backwards, propelling the butt into The Sniper’s stomach. It knocked the wind out of him. With a firm grip on the weapon, Harry snatched it away, swung it in a high arc and brought the whole solid body of it down on The Sniper’s head.

  Miller stepped forward, thrusting his unpredictable rat into Harry’s face. “I’ll shoot,” he threatened.