Darkness Under Heaven

by F. J. Chase

  He never liked to look down at what he was examining. Always across, because something that might otherwise blend into the surface became apparent. And even more so at eye level. As he bent down he picked up an unusual smell. Cleanser and something else he could not place. And a burned spot on the tabletop. Very small, much too small for a hot pan or dish to have made.

  He could not banish the smell from his mind. “Inspector He.”

  Who hurried in from the living room. “Yes, Comrade Commissioner?”

  “Are you able to identify this smell? Not the cleanser, the other.”

  Inspector He sniffed cautiously. “Comrade Commissioner, my daughter has an electric iron for burning designs into wood. This is what it smells like when she uses it.”

  “Yes! Exactly. Excellent, He.” Now Commissioner Zhou was down at floor level. And there was something the same color as the surface but resting upon it. He picked up a small piece of white plastic wire insulation and showed it to Inspector He. “A soldering iron, perhaps? Left on the table while hot?”

  “Yes, Comrade Commissioner.”

  “If the laboratory teams ever make their way through the traffic I want swabs taken of the table, floor and counters to identify any chemical traces. Until then no one is to be allowed near this table.”

  Colonel Shen walked into the kitchen area.

  “No one,” Commissioner Zhou repeated, with emphasis.

  An anxious glance over at Colonel Shen, then, “As you order, Comrade Commissioner.”

  Commissioner Zhou opened all the cupboards and then stood back and surveyed them as a whole, like portraits in a museum. Something was wrong here, also. “He, tell me what you see.”

  “A bowl unlike the others, Comrade Commissioner. The rest are not glass. Or so large. And it is forced into the space it occupies. It does not belong there.”

  “Very good.”

  Colonel Shen opened the refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen.

  Which made Commissioner Zhou furious. But Shen would welcome an argument and attempt to portray him as an obstructionist. So he swallowed his anger. At least Shen was still wearing the latex gloves.

  Colonel Shen leaned into the open refrigerator. It was on, but there was very little inside. Some jars of pickles and mustard. A few bottles of beer. And a glass bowl filled with what looked like paper. He poked it with his finger. Like most Chinese he was totally unfamiliar with the concept of a coffee filter. He smelled his gloved finger. An astringent chemical odor.

  He picked up one of the filters, holding it before the light. Only an American would keep paper in a refrigerator. Inexplicable. With a flick of the wrist he tossed it back into the bowl.

  Commissioner Zhou was enveloped by the sound and felt himself leave his feet. A hard blow knocked the breath from his body. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but smoke. It was only when he tried to turn that he realized he was on the floor. The living room floor. Nothing had struck him. He had been thrown from the kitchen to the living room.

  Feet crashed down directly in front of his face, nearly trampling him. It was firemen carrying large extinguishers. He tried to roll over onto his stomach in order to regain his feet, but in doing so collided with another body and fell again. It was Inspector He. Who had been attempting to do the very same thing.

  They each grabbed onto each other and stood up, coughing from the smoke. A loud sound of shattering glass. The firefighters were breaking the windows to let the smoke out. Commissioner Zhou wondered why they did not simply open them.

  The smoke began to drift away. Commissioner Zhou tried to speak, but there was no moisture in his mouth. One of the investigators took his arm and led him over to what had been a glass door to the balcony. The broken shards crunched under his feet.

  Even though he had done all this, it took the first breath of fresh air to make him realize what had happened. And spur him into action.

  “Out!” he shouted, nearly frightening the investigator at his arm half to death. “Everyone! Out of the apartment instantly!”

  They all rushed for the door. Commissioner Zhou noted that all were able to walk, some with assistance. Except the firemen carrying a limp Colonel Shen. He walked around the apartment to satisfy himself that no one was injured and left behind. And that there was no fire. It was clear that the explosion had taken place in the refrigerator. It was blackened, and the sides and top completely separated. Not a large explosion. Designed to kill whoever opened the refrigerator? What could be the reasoning behind that?

  The hall outside was utter confusion. Everyone rushing about and either babbling to each other or shouting into radios. Commissioner Zhou shouted again. “Silence!” The noise level dropped but did not cease. “Silence, everyone!” That had an effect. “Get control of yourselves! Cease using your radios and do not call anyone else up here. Send any wounded down in the elevator. If you are unhurt, stand by for orders and be quiet. Where are the bomb technicians?”

  They were slow to appear, knowing what was in store. “Here, Comrade Commissioner.”

  Commissioner Zhou left them standing before him and turned to the firemen. “Is there any further danger of fire?”

  “No, Comrade Commissioner. As long as there are no more explosions, of course.”

  “Stand by in case you are needed.” Then he turned back to the bomb technicians. “Return to the apartment and find the other booby traps you missed.”

  16

  “What are you smiling about?” Judy asked, smiling herself as she traced the line of his pectoral muscles with her finger.

  She was lying beside him in the crook of his arm, and Avakian pulled her a little closer. “I was just thinking it would have been doubly awkward if someone showed up to look at the apartment.”

  She started giggling. “I know you had a plan for that, and I do not want to know what it was.”

  “More’s the pity,” said Avakian. “It was one of my best schemes. Though it was dependent on whether the agent and prospective tenants were good-looking women.”

  She poked him under the rib cage.

  “I hate to be a killjoy,” he said. “But we really should get some sleep.”

  “But I’m not tired,” she purred into his neck.

  “Maybe not, but you are definitely naughty. Myself, I think I might be permanently disabled.”

  “As your doctor, I assure you you’re in excellent condition.”

  “That’s reassuring to hear. Nevertheless, after we roll this afternoon there won’t be much sleep for the next couple of days. Or more, if things don’t go according to plan.”

  “So we’re going to slip out of the city in the midst of all the confusion?”

  “Something like that. But we need to do one more thing before we skip town.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Rob a bank.”

  “What?”

  “When I was out buying supplies I used my credit card whenever I could, but there’s still a lot of places in modern China that don’t take plastic. And that used up all my cash. I don’t expect American cards to be honored in light of the current hostilities, and we’re going to need traveling money.”

  “So we’re robbing a bank?”

  “That’s how urban guerrillas finance their operations.”

  “You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?”

  Avakian nuzzled her ear. “You’d better believe it.”

  She giggled again. “I mean being an urban guerrilla.”

  “Well, I spent my working life studying these guys. And the essential calculus is that it’s easier to be one than it is to try and catch one. Until you get killed in a hail of gunfire, that is.”

  “Why do you persist in bringing that up all the time?”

  “Just trying to bring a note of reality to the proceedings. Otherwise it’s easy to get wrapped up in the game.”

  “And we’re really going to rob a bank?”

  “Unless you’ve a got a couple grand in loose yua
n secreted away on your person.” He lifted the sheet to check. “Or happen to have a better idea where to lay our hands on some cash. Because we’re broke.”

  She gave the matter some thought, and drew a blank. “Who said that’s where the money is?”

  “Willie Sutton, famous bank robber.”

  “That’s right. And now you’re going to tell me he said that from prison.”

  “I hate it when you step on my lines.”

  “Sorry. But we’re actually robbing a bank.”

  “I’m not going to rob some poor guy’s candy store. We’ve got to stick it to The Man.”

  “Very urban guerrilla of you.”

  “Thanks for noticing. But you don’t have to rob the bank. You can stay with the getaway car.”

  That brought her up on one elbow. “Pete, we are not going through that again. I’m not sitting outside some bank waiting for the sound of gunfire. I went down manholes. I held the flashlight on the railroad tracks. I’m going in the bank.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” She’d been ready for a fight.

  “I said okay.”

  Now she was feeling a little defensive about being ready for a fight. “I just didn’t want you getting all protective on me now that we’ve become intimate.”

  “Become intimate,” Avakian said, rolling it around on his tongue. “I like that. Fine choice of words. No, I couldn’t protect you even if I rolled you around the country inside a safe. If anything, it’s going to get even more dangerous.”

  “I was going to say ‘fine’ to that, but somehow it sounds kind of stupid. Like danger is my middle name or something.”

  “When we’re done with this it will be. Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

  “That was kind of off the wall, wasn’t it?”

  “Only because I failed to segue smoothly between thoughts. I repeat: do you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

  “Of course.”

  “And do you ride well?”

  “I like to think so.”

  “Good, because it’s an essential element of my plan.”

  “How so?” Judy asked.

  “Because we’re going to steal a motorcycle.”

  “I figured that part out already. I was inquiring about the plan.”

  “Oh. Well, you’ve seen rush hour traffic around here. A motorcycle’s the only way to get through it. Otherwise we’d move faster on skateboards.”

  “But why did you ask me if I know how to drive one? I’m going in the bank with you. Anyone can sit on the back of a motorcycle.”

  “That’s good to hear. I asked because I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle.”

  She came up on her elbow again. “You don’t know how to drive a motorcycle?”

  “I’m pretty sure I just said that.”

  “You steal cars. You pick locks. You shoot guns. But you can’t drive a motorcycle?”

  “Now you’re making me feel inadequate. Motorcycles always scared me to death.”

  “What? You were a paratrooper.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “Scuba diver?”

  “Correct.”

  “Mountain climber?”

  “Did the German Army Alpine Guide course. Great school.”

  “And you’re afraid of motorcycles?”

  “They’re not safe,” Avakian said flatly. “Need I remind you of the kid on the scooter, the first day we met? Sooner or later, your fault or not, something bad will happen to you on a motorcycle. I’d have thought an orthopedist would know this.”

  “Actually, motorcyclists make up a large chunk of my gross income. But I still know how to ride one.”

  “Then that makes one of us.”

  “But you’d have to ride on the back while I drive.”

  “It’s not a phobia,” Avakian explained. “If we had more time I’m sure I could learn how to work one of the stupid things. As far as riding on the back, I don’t have to like it. I just have to do it.”

  She rubbed her hands together gleefully. “So I get to ride a motorcycle through traffic, no speed limit.”

  “Don’t make me second-guess my decision.”

  “You know how to steal a motorcycle, don’t you?”

  “That I know.”

  “Do I get to carry a gun while we’re robbing the bank?”

  Avakian eyed her skeptically. “Have you ever fired a handgun?”

  “No.”

  “Then the answer to that is also no.”

  “You could teach me.”

  “And ordinarily I’d be happy to,” he said, stroking her. “Maybe we can make an even trade.”

  She answered that by groping him. “It’s a deal.”

  “Easy, now. I said ordinarily. But in order to learn you would actually have to fire a pistol. And I don’t think the neighbors here would appreciate that.”

  “All right, if you’re going to be that way about it. What do we do after we rob the bank and I elude the police during the high-speed chase?”

  “Let’s just leave out the high-speed chase part, shall we? We’ll stage the car off the beaten track while we do the heist. Then come back to it. But we’ll make the journey in another vehicle I’ve had my eye on.”

  “Why do I think it’s going to be just a bit more complicated than that?”

  “Probably the triumph of experience over hope. Let’s get some sleep and then I’ll walk you through the basic principles of bank robbery.”

  “I’ve got to tell you, Pete, this is the weirdest pillow talk I’ve ever had.”

  17

  The bomb disposal technicians were leaving the apartment for the second time. Commissioner Zhou was waiting for them at the door.

  The bomb inspector in his coveralls and flak jacket was sweating profusely, not surprising considering the nature of his job and that the air-conditioning was off and the windows smashed. “Comrade Commissioner, there are no explosive devices in the apartment.”

  “So you said before,” Commissioner Zhou replied.

  The inspector took a step back but did not retreat. “Comrade Commissioner, we have examined the refrigerator carefully. There was no bomb-triggering mechanism. Peroxide-based improvised explosive is very unstable, especially at higher temperatures. So it is commonly kept in a cool place. It is possible that this material was left in the refrigerator and the State Security officer somehow disturbed it.”

  Commissioner Zhou admired the inspector’s courage in attempting to save his face, but let his own face say that he did not fully believe the story. “And this explosive is that unstable?”

  “Yes, Comrade Commissioner. It could easily detonate if not handled carefully.”

  “How much of it would cause this damage?”

  “Only a few grams, Comrade Commissioner.”

  “Be serious.”

  “It is very powerful. Any more would have completely destroyed the apartment.”

  “So you theorize that this was residue left from a much larger batch of explosive?”

  “Yes, Comrade Commissioner.”

  “Then which of you checked the refrigerator the last time?”

  The inspector hesitated. “Comrade Commissioner, the man is a 1st Grade Officer who has just graduated from bomb school. He saw the bowl in the refrigerator, with paper in it, and did not realize what he was seeing. The explosive is not common in our country, and is not taught in our basic school. The paper is used to filter the explosive from a liquid solution.”

  “This is how you know it was only a few grams?” The story always emerged in small pieces, and always under pressure.

  “Yes, Comrade Commissioner.”

  “And the type of explosive?”

  “Yes, Comrade Commissioner. The chemical analysis will prove it.”

  “Can you determine how much was made?”

  “It depends upon the number of batches, Comrade Commissioner. Based on the size of the bowl, less than 150 grams in one batch. It is much sa
fer to make many small batches.”

  “It is easy to make?”

  “Easy but hazardous, Comrade Commissioner. But it is possible that only a small amount was made in order to ignite another type of explosive, due to its sensitivity.”

  Commissioner Zhou opened his notebook and removed the list of purchases traced to Avakian. ‘Tell me what you see here.”

  The inspector examined the list carefully. “Comrade Commissioner, the hair bleach would be the source of the peroxide. The other ingredients are not here.”

  “What ingredients?”

  “Either acetone and sulfuric acid, or citric acid and hexamine.”

  “Easy to obtain, then.”

  “Very easy, Comrade Commissioner. This large amount of swimming pool cleaner indicates another explosive. But the other ingredients are also not listed.”

  “And they are?”

  “Nitromethane fuel used to power model cars. Or common naphtha.”

  “So this would bear out your theory of two different explosives.”

  The inspector was experiencing both relief and newfound confidence. “Yes, Comrade Commissioner. Using the peroxide explosive would make the swimming pool bleach easier to detonate, and also increase its velocity. The pipe listed here would contain the explosive material.”

  “Why would the suspect purchase a large amount of flashlights?”

  “To construct firing mechanisms, Comrade Commissioner.”

  “What kind?”

  “Any kind. Timer, impact, pressure, trip wire, antidisturbance.”

  The inspector fell silent as Commissioner Zhou paused to think. “You have redeemed yourself, Inspector. Look again at the list and tell me of any additional impressions.”

  “The amount of explosive could make one large bomb or many smaller ones, Comrade Commissioner. But based on the amount and diameter of this pipe, I would say many smaller ones. Unless his intent was to deceive us with the quantities.”

  “Why would anyone carry so much pipe about when they did not have to?”

  This served to remind the inspector that his field was explosives, not investigation. “You are right, of course, Comrade Commissioner.”