by Sewell, Ron
“Chit chat, nothing important.”
Mike aimed his camera at a procession of seven lorries approaching the compound. The lead truck stopped and the others drew alongside and formed a line. From the rear of each jumped groups of men with ropes and nets.
* * *
For a few moments, bright moonlight broke through the clouds. A man dressed in black overalls approached and spoke to George.
George turned to Petros and Bear. “Show him the cave. He’s supervising the removal of the Emperor’s treasure to a safe place.”
Petros, accompanied by Bear, strolled to the shed containing the railcar. With the car full of men in identical black overalls, it ascended. At the top, the veins in Petros’ temple started to throb, his heart rate surged and his mouth went dry as he led the group toward the tower.
The moon vanished behind a bank of clouds. Torches flashed on and off as Petros and Bear retrieved and rigged their gear for the descent. Without waiting, both men abseiled to the ledge and began stripping away the dead foliage. Minutes later two others stood beside them. Petros shone his headlamp at the access hole and entered.
The man grabbed Petros’ jacket and dragged him back, pointed to the top of the tower and tugged at the rope.
“They don’t want us here, PK. Time to leave.”
Taking their time, the two men climbed while others descended with nets, ropes, and scaffold poles.
With the cloud-covered sky and a myriad lights below, in silence they wandered back to the railcar.
“Well organised,” said Petros.
“Pre-arranged in every respect,” said Bear. “George clearly told them everything.” He turned to the noise of movement below the tower. “They’re lowering boxes using a portable hoist.”
“Not our problem.”
* * *
“They work fast,” said Sam.
“I told you to whisper,” said Mike, as he panned his camera towards two lorries loaded, engines running and ready to leave.
“None of this will stay in China. Hong Kong and then the good old USA black market,” she whispered.
“Tell me something I don’t know. These people are not interested in history. It’s everything to do with money and power.”
“So much for the Little Red Book.”
“I’ve filmed grave robbers from north to south and east to west,” he said. “There are three sides to the truth. There is what ya believe, the real truth and, somewhere in the middle, reality. Many world leaders fail to practise what they force on their own people. You are familiar with the luxury demanded by Hosni Mubarak, Robert Mugabe, Saddam Hussein and many more, while all around their palaces people starved. China isn’t any different. Here we have men in smart suits working at the top of tall buildings, manipulating the money the Hong Kong Triads invest in their businesses until it becomes clean. Officials are paid to close their eyes. I can guarantee tomorrow the poor will still be poor and the rich, richer.”
“It’s gone quiet, Mike.”
“One lorry to go. What the hell ...?” A noise filled Mike’s head as three helicopters, their searchlights blazing, hovered over them, three powerful beams directed at the compound. “Hold the blanket. If we lose it the shit flies.”
“At the moment the downdraught’s working for us,” shouted Sam.
* * *
The last lorry departed as the three craft glided ahead. One landed as the other two formed an aggressive stance. Armed officers jumped to the ground and aimed their weapons at those standing there. The other machines repeated the procedure.
From the first helicopter, wearing his uniform, Ding Lang strutted, smiling, towards Petros and Bear.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” said Petros. A shiver galloped down his spine.
He sniffed the air like a dog. “You should do as you are told. Every circus needs a ringmaster and I have the job. I warned you but you thought you were better. In China you learn to lie, mislead, and dupe to survive.”
“Commander,” said Bear, “if you can, remove your balls from so far up your arse you’ll feel better.”
Ding Lang strutted back and forth, gesturing with his hands and shouting orders at a squad of dark-clad figures fanning out as they advanced.
From behind, something smashed Petros’ skull. He attempted to raise his head. For a few minutes he remained unmoving until his vision cleared. Stunned, he tried to make sense of what happened. He sat on the hard-packed earth with a pistol in his right hand.
To his left, George lay prostrate, his head surrounded by a red stain that seeped into the dust.
“What the fuck?” said Bear.
“We took our eyes off the ball. George has half his head missing and I’m holding a pistol.” Petros clambered to his feet.
“Both of you put your hands in the air and spread your feet. Any movement and my men will kill you.”
“Commander, is this a double or treble cross?” asked Petros. “Believe me when I say it would give me the greatest of pleasure to cut your balls off and shove them down your throat.”
The expression on Ding Lang’s face remained unaltered. “I will do everything in my power to resume my status in Beijing. My employer is in a position to make this happen. I discover two men in a restricted compound, one holding a recently fired weapon next to a dead man.”
“Come on, I didn’t kill George.”
He stared back. “Mr Kyriades, the success in any plan lies in its simplicity. My men saw you shoot this man. Why is of no importance.”
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t play games. You hold the murder weapon in your hand.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an arsehole?” said Petros.
“Commander, may I say something?” said Bear.
“If you must.”
Ill at ease, Bear grinned. “This is a load of fucking bollocks.”
A sneer grew on Ding Lang’s lips. “You may well be right, but we will let our legal system decide your guilt. I’m playing a game you cannot win. Prison teaches most inmates to notice and listen.” He turned and in Chinese spoke to his men.
The police kicked, dragged and dumped Petros and Bear into a closed box on wheels.
“That man’s a fucking tosser, Bear.”
“That’s an understatement.”
The officers secured them to a central steel beam, which ran the length of the truck’s roof, before they slammed and locked the doors.
* * *
Mike’s cameras operated until the police unit disappeared into the kaleidoscope of vehicle lights. His final shot covered the helicopters departing.
“Jesus, Sam. The story of a lifetime.”
“What makes you believe anyone will broadcast it?”
“Sam, if I add this to me film of last night, with subtle editing I have a news story the Chinese will want to suppress.”
“Those men the police took away. Did they know?”
“They had an idea. The one named Petros contacted me. Time to make tracks and get out of here.”
Back on the ground, Mike checked the time. It was four in the morning. To meet the news deadline, time was running out. “Back to me place, Sam, as fast as ya dare go. We have work to do.”
Sam twisted the bike’s throttle open until the speedometer registered 120 kilometres per hour.
“Go faster”, said Mike through the in-built communication.
“With little traffic and at this time on a Friday the police are at their best. Better to get there with your evidence intact than get it smashed in a police station.”
“I hate ya when ya right.”
“I know.”
Two hours later Sam stopped outside Mike’s apartment. On removing her helmet, she said, “I’ll give you a hand matching the sound to pictures, if you want.”
“Cheers. It’ll save me hours.”
“My help is all you’re going to get.”
“Sam, at the moment sex is the second thing on my mind. If we don’t get t
his sorted and out of the country, we’ve misused a whole night.”
“Why are we wasting time?”
In his spare bed-come-editing room, Mike copied his film twice. One copy he kept and the other he flashed to his Sydney memory bank.
He stretched his arms and yawned. “Sam, thanks for ya help. It’s late or early, take ya pick. If ya want to kip here …”
“Thanks. Sleep is what the doctor ordered. I’ll crash out on the sofa. You can have your bed.”
“Spoil-sport.” He moved to kiss her on the cheek but her lips got in the way.
Their fervour erupted as a primeval urge. The sheer intensity of the night, their eagerness tumbled them to the floor. Amid the writhing and removing of clothes, Sam sat astride Mike, her hand guiding him into her. Reckless, imaginative, and obsessed, they made love.
As they lay naked, neither said a word as their heart rate slowed.
“I’ve always liked you and you were great in the sack. For once Mike you were in the right place at the right time. And I wanted you to fuck me.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m always up for seconds.”
“I’d better go. Have you seen my knickers?”
Mike gave a satisfied smile and pointed to the top of a table lamp. “You’d better. The sun’s over the mountains and I’m knackered.” He held and kissed her once more. The fire was out.
Chapter Thirty
Petros and Bear waited in the unfurnished reception room of a Beijing detention centre. Four uniformed guards stood behind them, silent, unmoving, unsmiling.
“An escape plan might be useful, PK.”
“And what do you suggest?”
“Why are you asking me? My brain stopped working when that bastard hit me.”
“How long will they keep us waiting?”
“For as long as it takes. Let’s face it, we’re not going anywhere. Ding Lang has sewn us up like kippers.”
A door opened and a small, thin, serious man, with eyes close together and carrying a brief case, walked in, followed by two guards. The officer stopped and shouted. “Empty pockets.”
Petros and Bear dumped everything into a bag one of the guards produced.
The officer produced a clipboard and held it in front of Petros. “Sign.”
Petros shook his head. “No.”
The man poked Bear in the chest. “You sign.”
Bear took it and studied the Chinese characters. With a huge smile he wrote ‘bollocks’ in large letters across the page.
The officer returned it to his briefcase before speaking to the guards.
The more hostile of the two shouted at Petros and Bear. With his right hand he motioned for them to follow.
With one guard in front and the other a few paces behind, the two prisoners traipsed along many identical corridors. Petros started to say something but a rifle butt striking his back stopped him.
They halted and waited. Another man wearing a blue uniform arrived, opened the door and escorted Petros and Bear into a cell. He looked around, as if inspecting, and left. On the ceiling four caged florescent lamps gave the effect of bright sunlight. The room was empty.
“Been in worse,” said Bear.
“What time is it?”
“Past my bedtime.”
From speakers concealed in the walls, the Chinese National Anthem blasted out.
“What next?” said Petros as his eyes wandered around the eight-by-five metre room. “Home sweet home without the comforts. This raised platform must be our bed. The toilet’s well-designed but I had more privacy doing a dump in the hills of Afghanistan.”
“I wonder when they serve breakfast?” asked Bear.
The entrance opened and a man dressed in a red uniform placed two bowls on the floor, grinned and shut the door.
“Room service.” said Bear.
Petros picked up the white plastic dishes. “Don’t shout too soon.” He handed one to Bear. “What is it?”
“The bread’s absorbed the fluid, whatever that was. These eggs came from a tiny chicken. Still, it’s food. Get it eaten.”
Much later the door opened and the man in red pointed and shouted.
Petros lifted himself off the bench, picked up the bowls and took them to the man. A sharp retort, followed by a cane striking his wrist, taught him another rule.
Bear stared out of the window and approximated the time.
“Solitary confinement with a difference,” said Bear. “There’s two of us.”
“Keep quiet. The bastards may be listening to our conversation.”
“Who gives a shit? With no phone call, Jocelyn will worry.”
“Maria will be doing the same. Take it easy for the moment. They may have planned activities to stop us becoming bored.”
“Wake me up if something happens.”
The door opened and closed with a loud click. Petros lifted his head and noticed another two bowls containing rice, bread, potato and chunks of white meat. “Bear, lunch time.”
Bear took the bowl and stared at its contents. “It’s not enough to feed a cockroach. My stomach assumes my throat’s cut.”
“It’s food.”
“It’s gone. What other joys will this day bring?”
Petros placed both empty bowls to the left side of the door, ready for collection. He stood and paced the floor, thinking. Mikemust have filmed their arrest. Sky News or another world media group may have broadcast his story. “Are you asleep?”
“No.”
Petros leaned against the wall. “Strange, you pay attention to the horror stories related to Chinese prisons and here we are. Why has no one arrived to beat the shit out of us? Mike told me the black jails, which officially don’t exist, are indicative of the dark ages. Yet this prison’s modern, clean and, although Spartan, acceptable.”
“Isolation is a psychological weapon. They cut you off from everyone and everything you consider normal. At first you’re okay, but it does have an effect after a few days. You begin to worry.”
“So what? We were trained for these situations.”
“PK, we were taught to defeat a known enemy. We anticipate torture. This is harder because we have no idea what to expect.”
“As they say, so far so good.”
The door opened, two bowls were placed on the floor and the dirty ones removed.
“Ah, must be dinner,” said Bear. “Could be tomato soup with an egg in it.”
“A spoon might be useful.”
“PK, God gave you fingers long before spoons. Utensils in the wrong hands become a handy weapon.”
“I wonder what the time is?”
“By the way the shadow has drifted across the window, five, six o’clock at the latest.”
Petros lay on the long board and rested.
The cell door crashed against the wall. Three men, a fresh-faced officer and two guards, stood in the corridor. “Come,” shouted the officer.
Bear sat up, rubbed his face and grinned. “Can I wash the crap out of my eyes?”
Petros swung his feet to the floor, took several deep breaths, turned and stood. “Time to go, Bear.”
“If needs must.”
The two guards, holding black metal probes with small red neon tips, marched at the rear.
The officer stopped, removed a bunch of keys, opened a door and motioned for Petros and Bear to follow.
The bright, white-painted room contained three chairs and a table bolted to the floor. The officer sat on one side, Petros and Bear the other. The two guards remained silent by the door.
In excellent English, he said, “The crime you are accused of has been investigated. There is ample evidence to prove your guilt. Eyewitnesses confirm that you, Petros Kyriades, assisted by you, William Morris, murdered George Yee-Ming, a tourist visiting the Great Wall at Simatai.”
Petros glared at the young man. “I killed no one.”
“The specifics tell a different story.”
“Lies,” said Petros. “Why won’t you lis
ten to my explanation of events as they happened.”
He shrugged. “You wish to tell me, I must listen.”
“The evidence is convincing but distorted. I know these people. The Triads are ruthless and efficient … Why aren’t you taking notes or recording what I say?”
The officer examined his files before speaking. “I have no need. The evidence against you has been verified and signed by a higher authority than myself. You are guilty of murder and will be executed by firing squad at a date yet to be confirmed.”
In the brightness of the room, Bear spotted the man’s earpiece, its wire dropping under the collar of his shirt. “You’re wasting your breath, PK. The two of us have been signed, sealed, and delivered, trussed and stuffed, ready for the oven.”
“You will sign or make your mark on these documents,” said the officer.
Petros pulled the sheets of paper towards himself and studied them for a second. “I cannot read Chinese.”
“Here and here.” The officer pointed. “It is an account of your actions leading to the death of George Yee-Ming.”
“I’m not going to sign.”
“You must.”
“My friend and I didn’t murder anyone. Why should we? He owed us money. Return us back to our cell where, if nothing else, we can sleep.” The officer shouted at the two guards who, like robots, came to life.
“You will be taken back to your cell by these men. Do not act foolish. If you run or make any move against them you will be shot dead.”
Petros grimaced. “Just like skydiving without a parachute.”
“I’d prefer those odds,” said Bear. “At least you have a chance.”
The young man stood and the guards positioned themselves in front, and behind the prisoners. They returned to their cell in single file.
A twinge of fear cloaked Petros as on passing through the doorway something struck his chest, forcing him to the floor, unable to breathe. A stinging pain spread throughout his body. He opened his eyes and made out Bear holding a man by the throat. “Don’t,” he attempted to shout.
