by F. J. Chase
He grabbed the raft and pulled it back into the water. A moment later they were continuing their journey down the river.
“A frigging police station,” he whispered. “Would you believe we came out of the water right across the street from a frigging police station?”
She was just glad he hadn’t dealt with the frustration by going in there and shooting them all. And was so relieved to see him that the list of grievances she’d been preparing to address evaporated. “So what now?” As soon as those words came out of her mouth it occurred to her that it would be really embarrassing to know how many times those words had come out of her mouth that night.
“Keep going for another mile or so and try again.”
It was probably well under a mile. But he was impatient. “Be right back,” he whispered.
She pointed her finger at him again. And once again he shrugged and disappeared.
Judy decided to look at her watch this time. Because his last business trip had seemed like an hour and probably lasted ten minutes. Her watch was dead. So much for waterproof. Maybe all the pollution in the water had eaten it away.
Shit! There he was again. She wished he’d stop doing that. But he’d probably say something about not making noise or whatever. She didn’t know how many more frights she could take, but was pretty sure there were a few more in store for her down the road.
“We’re in business,” Avakian whispered. He dragged the raft all the way up onto the bank. With a few slashes of his knife he removed the rope and opened up the plastic, tossing it all back into the river. No guilt about polluting China. Their bags were a little damp but not soaked. Outstanding.
He went to grab his duffel bag and Judy grabbed his arm. She tilted his head back and flushed out his eyes with a bottle of water from her bag. “Blink,” she ordered.
That did feel a little better. He was ready to reciprocate but she took care of herself. She handed him another bottle and two energy bars, sternly pointing both at his mouth and not to touch the bars with his contaminated hands.
Avakian chugged the bottle down and, holding them by the foil wrapping, rammed both bars into his mouth in about twenty seconds. He brushed his hands off on his pants as Judy shook her head.
While she ate, much more slowly, he whispered, “There’s a park just a little way down and across the road. Full of trucks. Maybe a hundred. I think they’re waiting out whatever’s going on. Looks like they had a bonfire and tied one on last night, and a lot of them are sleeping on the grass instead of in their cabs. I found one truck that’s ready to be borrowed. Whenever you finish nibbling on that thing.”
“Okay, okay,” she whispered back.
He got his duffel bag ready to go. Thirty years and trying to get the troops to saddle up and move out hadn’t changed one bit. It had taken those two trips up and down the bank to make him realize just how worn out he was.
Though the park was packed with trucks, most of them run up onto the grass, a few latecomers had only been able to find space on the road. Not wanting to miss the party, they’d locked up and left their rides. Something Chinese truck drivers didn’t ordinarily do.
Avakian had taken a little extra time to choose his mark because, although Judy had been fantastic so far, he wasn’t sure if she was ready for advanced sneaking and peeking.
It was a FAW—all the commercial trucks on the roads were Chinese brands. A six-ton freight carrier, about midsize between an American tractor trailer and a large delivery truck. Wood slats up the sides of the cargo bed and an open top covered by a plastic tarp. It was loaded with scrap steel. The driver must have tried to get into Zhangjiakou and turned back because it was parked facing west and halfway down a gently sloping downgrade.
The sun hadn’t appeared yet but it was getting much too bright for Avakian’s taste. “Just walk regular,” he whispered. “Less suspicious.”
So they walked right across the road like regular pedestrians. Loud snoring was coming from some of the other trucks. Avakian jumped up on the running board to check the cab once more. This was not the time for any surprises.
The auto theft kit was still in the duffel bag with his rifle, more by oversight than anything else. The door was easy. The locks were those long up and down latches with the mushroom heads just like in the good old days.
He opened the door gingerly and ushered Judy in. She bounced across into the passenger seat, sighing at the incredible luxury. It was just a dirty fabric-covered foam seat, but luxury was all a matter of perspective.
Avakian placed his pistol on the dash. If you were going to fight from a phone booth a pistol was a lot better than a rifle. “Things might start happening real fast,” he warned her.
The dent puller went into the ignition, but to his utter frustration took five bangs on the side hammer before the lock cylinder came out. Shit. Someone had to have heard that.
Inserting his knife to unlock the steering column, he cut the wheel to the left, shifted into neutral, and released the brakes. Nothing. They were parked on a downhill slope and the frigging truck refused to move. What the hell? Avakian checked to see if there was another brake he’d neglected to release. Goddammit. C’mon, c’mon, he was shouting his internal monologue. Haven’t you ever heard of fucking gravity? Unbelievable. He imagined a mob of angry truckers closing in on them even then. He cycled the brakes and was even rocking back and forth in his seat in an effort to get it moving.
The truck moved an inch. Let’s go, let’s go, Avakian was screaming inside his head, still bouncing in the seat. The truck picked up a little steam and swung to the left, barely missing the bumper of the one parked in front.
“Clear on the right,” Judy said helpfully. Except she was still whispering out of habit.
He cut the wheel back over and they were heading down the road, picking up a little speed. The owner hadn’t been his height and he couldn’t see squat through the side mirrors—a little detail he’d overlooked. “Anyone running after us?” he asked.
Judy stuck her head out the window. “No. And no trucks starting up, either.”
“You don’t have to whisper anymore.”
She was embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“Hard habit to break.” Deciding not to tempt fate by trying to pop the clutch, he stuck his knife back in the steering column and started the ignition. It roared to life. “How about that?”
Judy was emptying the ashtray out the window. “There are no nonsmoking vehicles in China.”
“But are you okay with the color?” he asked.
“I’m okay with the color.”
It was green. Which was a big color for Chinese trucks, for whatever reason.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“A little better since I had some food and water.” She was examining her fingertips. “But I’m all pruned up.”
“I can’t imagine why,” he said. “But you’re still beautiful.”
Hair wet and matted down, clothes soaked, sneakers squishing, smelling like she’d swum through a vat of petrochemicals and then rinsed off in an open sewer. And her smile lit up that dingy truck cab. “What about you?”
“I’m definitely still beautiful.”
His droll tone cracked her up. “I mean how do you feel?”
“I’ve been better. That was the longest night of my life.”
“Always nice to know I’m not the only one who feels a certain way. You mean you never did anything like that before?”
He broke his cardinal driving rule by turning his head to stare at her.
She cracked up again, pounding on the dashboard. “Oh, I wish I had a picture of your face just then. But hey, a series of hairbreadth escapes from certain death count as new and interesting experiences, don’t they?”
“I’m going to have to say yes on that.”
“And that’s what’s really important. And we’re driving instead of floating down a polluted river.”
“You know I hate to be negative, but it’s still no
t clear whether we’re on the right highway. Or even going in the right direction.”
“Where else could we be?”
“In the absence of a road atlas, I’d have to say anywhere in China.”
“I forgive your negativity. But you’re missing the crucial point here.”
“Which is?”
“We’re not floating down a polluted river with people shooting at us.”
“I concede that point.”
Judy immediately started rummaging around the cab. Avakian was always amused by female curiosity. She found a plastic bag that she thought might contain clothing, opened it up and peered in. “Whoa!” she exclaimed, shutting it up and throwing it out the window.
“Do I even want to know?” said Avakian.
“Somebody’s dirty clothes that smelled worse than what we have on.”
“That’s pretty bad.”
“Cleared out my sinuses.”
But that didn’t stop her. A second later she found a bottle under the seat. No label, clear liquid. She uncapped it and sniffed cautiously. “It’s alcohol, all right. Must not have wanted to share.”
“As your spiritual advisor,” Avakian said. “I recommend you not try that home brew unless you want to risk blindness.”
“I appreciate your concern for my spiritual needs. But have no fear.”
“Don’t throw it away, though. We might need to start a fire.”
“It’s definitely volatile.” She tucked the bottle back under the seat.
Her only other discovery was four cartons of domestic cigarettes and a small bag containing an extra pair of shoes with a hole in one sole and a toilet kit with a grubby towel, an encrusted razor with a blade that looked like it was hosting tetanus, and a bar of soap that had originally been white before being smeared with black grease.
Two miles down the road a sign appeared. A highway marker with a 110 in the center. And in Chinese and English, as had been customary so far, it read: Hohhot 270 km.
“Well?” Judy demanded.
Avakian shook his head. “Of all the crazy dead reckoning navigation I’ve ever pulled out of my ass, this has to win the prize.” The sense of relief was so profound it felt like every muscle in his body, which had been tensed up for so long he no longer noticed, relaxed all at once.
“I’m going to assume that’s good. Are we going to Hohhot?”
“No. About halfway there we take the 206 Highway north. Through Chinese Inner Mongolia and right up to the Mongolian border.”
“How long before we get there?”
“Oh, no,” said Avakian. “I’m not doing that again. You remember what happened when I angered the gods the last time.”
“Okay,” she said. “Then how far?”
“Ballpark estimate? Little over two hundred miles.”
“Okay, I see what you mean. The last hundred did take us a little longer than we expected.”
25
Sunrise only made the investigators sluggish after the long day in Beijing and a sleepless night in Zhangjiakou.
The road zigzagged as it followed the river and the path of the valley floor. Commissioner Zhou positioned the roadblock directly after a turn so there would be no early warning of its presence. With the river on one side and a grove of substantial trees on the other it would be impossible to drive around.
He had thought about using the vehicles to create a hidden roadblock—only springing out from concealment at the last moment. But he remembered the warning of the lieutenant on the bridge. They were in plainclothes, after all. If someone mistook them for thieves, who had been known to use counterfeit police cars, it might well result in two groups of police shooting at each other. No matter that the sergeant who collected the patrol car had also shown the foresight to obtain a list of the local Public Security and Armed Police radio frequencies. Commissioner Zhou wished he could remember his name.
They set up the block with the marked patrol car across one lane and the plastic police barriers in the other to force approaching vehicles to reduce speed. They had left one of their confiscated civilian vehicles at the station. The other was parked inside the trees.
It was still dark when they did this, and they were prepared for anything. But vigilance relaxed with the passing of the hours. There was no traffic coming from the west into the city. The news had made its way quickly, as it always did in China. No cars leaving the city, but about two trucks every hour. Those with cargos destined beyond Zhangjiakou. Tired of waiting to pass and heading back to begin the very, very long drive to circle around the city.
The first truck had everyone swarming over it. But after the fourth load of coal or dirty sheepskins interest flagged. Commissioner Zhou allowed Inspector He to post two men at a time and allow the others to rest. Though he would not. He spoke with every driver, seeking any sign or rumor of Avakian.
He knew the sergeants, and most likely He, regarded it as a fool’s errand. And Commissioner Zhou himself had absolutely no idea how Avakian could possibly make his way through Zhangjiakou. Only that he would.
Once the riots died down and order was restored he could arrange to have the appropriate forces placed on the road to relieve them of this task. Perhaps a day, no more than two.
He had felt more alert in the darkness. The rising sun was like grit in his eyes. The sergeants had made a fire to brew tea. Perhaps that was what he needed.
“I can take the wheel if you’d like a break,” Judy said.
“I’m just droning along on adrenaline right now,” said Avakian. “When we get on the 206 Highway you can spell me for a while. Why don’t you take a nap until then?”
“I couldn’t sleep right now if you threatened to shoot me.”
“How did you know that was going to be my next move?”
“Just an educated guess.”
“That’s right, you doctors are used to staying up for days at a time, aren’t you?”
“When we’re young doctors, Pete. And then later we make the young doctors stay up for days at a time. Except when we get the shit scared out of ourselves repeatedly.”
“Okay, now which one is this?”
“The third part.”
“Scared shitless?”
“Right.”
They came around a turn and Avakian saw the white police barriers. “Take the wheel,” he said, springing over to her side, continuing to steer with one hand, before she’d fully comprehended what he’d said.
Judy slipped underneath him and grabbed the wheel.
Avakian had the rifle out and was jamming magazines into the crevice in his seat. “Get down low so you can just see over the wheel,” he instructed her calmly. “Steer so the wheel is centered in the front tire of that police car. Lock your elbows against your body so the wheel doesn’t move. You’re going to ram them and continue on down the road.” Then he added, “You can step on the gas now.”
Judy followed his instructions to the letter.
Avakian leaned his shoulder against the door and braced his left foot against the dash to give himself a solid shooting platform.
The two sergeants held up their hands to signal the truck to stop.
Commissioner Zhou had just been handed a mug of hot black tea and was blowing to cool it.
“Hit the horn,” Avakian said.
“Where the hell’s the horn?” Judy shouted after a frantic but fruitless search.
“Never mind,” he said.
One of the sergeants raised his rifle to fire a warning shot over the top of the truck.
Avakian leaned out the window.
The sergeant did not see him in the glare of the rising sun and fired the warning shot.
Inspector He was dozing in the confiscated civilian car parked amid the trees. The sound of a gunshot woke him with a start.
No precision shooting from a moving truck. Avakian had the selector switch on full auto and, noting the vests, dropped his aim point to the policeman’s knees. He held a breath and squeezed the trigger.<
br />
Commissioner Zhou dropped his tea and fumbled for his pistol.
The sergeant who fired the warning shot went down under the first burst. His partner ran for cover as bullets kicked up dirt all around him.
Avakian leaned farther out the window and fired three fast six-round bursts at the fleeing target, emptying the magazine. He ducked back into the cab and grabbed a fresh one.
Commissioner Zhou could not believe it. Avakian. Finally confronted by the object of his search, he stared transfixed and forgot he had a pistol in his hand.
Inspector He snatched up his rifle and leaped from the back seat of the car.
Avakian rocked in the full plastic magazine and yanked the charging handle back. He aimed over the hood and put a burst through the windshield of the police car, the only other target he could see. The impact moments away, he pulled himself back into the cab.
Inspector He took up a good kneeling position and aimed for the truck door.
Still following her instructions, Judy had the truck lined up on the front of the police car. She prepared herself for the collision.
Inspector He opened fire.
The side mirror exploded right in front of Avakian’s face, and his thigh felt like he’d gotten the world’s worst white-hot bee sting. He yelled in pain and twisted around to see where it had come from. The shooter was kneeling out in the open. Avakian emptied the magazine at him one-handed before the collision threw him up against the dashboard.
The truck hit the front of the police car and spun it like a top. Commissioner Zhou had to dive out of the way to keep from being hit.
Speeding down the road with no apparent mechanical problems, Judy yelled, “How about that?” Receiving no answer, she looked over and saw Pete with a bloody hand clamped to his thigh. She swung the wheel to pull over.
“No, no, no,” Avakian yelled. “Keep going!”
He started thrashing around, and Judy wondered how she was ever going to restrain him. Then he settled down, and she saw he had cinched his belt around his thigh above the wound. Quite a feat, doing first aid on yourself after being shot. But she realized, with another jab of ice to her stomach, that he’d probably seen people bleed out before.
