Fugitive

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, she’s always like this. Especially with new faces,’ replied Zhen, spooning in a mouthful of broth. ‘Besides, where else can you go?’

  Connor felt the old woman’s fierce gaze upon him. He supposed turning up after dark with two foreign boys wasn’t exactly cause for celebration. But their guide had a valid point. It was the middle of the night. They were fugitives on the run. Nowhere was safe and no one could be trusted. This austere backwater bolthole was their only option, for the short term at least. Picking up his spoon, he took a careful sip of the thick saffron-coloured soup before him. Tasting of pumpkin, ginger, coriander and a whole host of other flavours he couldn’t identify, the homemade broth was instantly warming and satisfying. Having not eaten for hours, it took all Connor’s willpower not to down the entire lot in one gulp.

  ‘What is this soup?’ he asked, savouring another spoonful. ‘It’s delicious.’

  Zhen turned to her grandmother, who snapped, ‘Qìgōng tāng!’ before irritably muttering something else.

  ‘Qìgōng soup,’ Zhen translated for them. ‘It’s her own special recipe. She says the soup nourishes your spirit and qi.’

  ‘Qi?’ Amir said, his gaze fixed upon Zhen.

  ‘Your life force,’ Connor explained, recognizing the term from his jujitsu training. ‘The flow of energy through and around your body. Qi is a core principle of traditional Eastern medicine and martial arts. Basically, Amir, the soup’s good for you.’

  Amir gave a vague nod in response. Despite the mouthwatering aroma and the recipe’s supposed restorative powers, he continued to stare over his bowl at Zhen. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her since their guide’s miraculous transformation. Connor couldn’t blame him. Zhen was undeniably pretty. He had no idea how he hadn’t seen through her guise before. Her slight figure, soft features and high voice should’ve been a dead giveaway. But her brazen attitude, covered hair and neutral clothing had effectively concealed her true identity.

  It seems some girls are experts at deception! thought Connor, feeling a sharp pang in his heart at Charley’s shocking betrayal.

  ‘Why pretend to be a boy?’ Amir eventually asked their guide.

  Zhen slowly stirred her soup. ‘My grandmother questions that too. That’s why she’s so furious with me. She thinks a girl should be a girl and be proud of it. But she doesn’t understand how the modern world works.’ Zhen laid down her spoon. ‘You see, after my parents died, Lăolao took care of me. This used to be a guest house for tourists –’

  ‘I bet it got rave reviews for the service!’ remarked Amir, flashing a toothy grin at the immutable grandmother. Connor elbowed him in the ribs, urging him not to taunt the fiery dragon.

  ‘I helped her out, cleaning and cooking,’ Zhen continued, ‘but when she grew too old to cater for guests I had to look elsewhere for work to support us. In the city, it was just easier as a boy to gain employment. And as a tour guide … far safer.’

  ‘Unfortunately, not with us,’ said Connor. ‘I’m sorry we’ve dragged you into our troubles.’

  Zhen laughed. ‘Don’t be. This has been my most exciting tour ever! Besides, the police are looking for a boy in a red baseball cap. Not a girl.’

  Connor immediately felt a weight fall from his shoulders. Of course, their guide – as she appeared now – was no longer a suspect and consequently out of immediate danger.

  ‘But we’re still being hunted,’ he reminded her. ‘Not only by the police who think we’re foreign spies but by Equilibrium who want us dead.’ He glanced up at Lăolao, who returned his look with hostile suspicion. ‘It’s understandable that your grandmother is so angry having us under her roof.’

  Zhen resumed eating her soup. ‘She hasn’t heard about the attack. She doesn’t have a TV or radio, or even a mobile phone! You’re two students on one of my tours as far as Lăolao is concerned.’

  Amir blinked in shock. ‘Shouldn’t you tell her? I mean, she’s unknowingly harbouring enemies of the state.’

  Zhen tried not to look up at her grandmother, whose eyes listened as hard as her ears. ‘Oh, she knows we’re in trouble. Nothing gets past my grandmother. She just doesn’t know how deep.’

  ‘You should explain the situation to her,’ insisted Connor. ‘It’s only fair.’

  Zhen gave a nod. ‘I will. In the morning. Tonight we all need rest.’

  Connor couldn’t argue with that. After everything that had happened – from the surprise attack at the station, and the shooting of Bugsy and Colonel Black, followed by their fraught escape from the guards and Mr Grey, to the long and risky journey fleeing Shanghai – the three of them were on their last legs. The food had satisfied their hunger, but now their bodies craved sleep.

  Connor scooped out the last dregs of soup. As soon as he’d finished, Lăolao whipped his bowl away. But Connor thought he caught the shadow of a satisfied smile on her wrinkled face.

  Amir polished his off too. ‘Can I have some more?’ he asked tentatively, then clearly wished he hadn’t as he withered under her unrelenting glare. She snatched the bowl from his grasp. ‘I guess not.’

  Leaving the bowls in the sink, the grandmother pulled out two paper-thin bamboo mats, a pair of blankets and a couple of cushions, and tossed them in the corner of the courtyard. ‘Chuáng,’ she said, pointing at the floor and what would be their beds.

  ‘Make yourselves at home,’ said Zhen, although it was obvious the translation had been softened by their guide.

  Lăolao shuffled into her house without further ceremony or bidding them goodnight. Then she barked for Zhen to join her.

  ‘Sleep well,’ said Zhen with a timid smile, before obediently following her grandmother inside.

  The door to the house slammed shut behind her and a bolt was heard rattling across.

  ‘Well, I’m loving Chinese hospitality!’ said Amir as he rolled out his bamboo mat on the hard concrete floor. ‘Some guest house this is!’

  Connor set up his bed next to Amir’s. ‘Just be thankful we’ve somewhere to stay.’

  Amir sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. We’ve got four walls, what more do we need?’ He looked round at the spartan courtyard, then glanced up. ‘Oh, a roof would be nice!’ he added sardonically. ‘But we can’t ask for everything, can we?’

  With a strained smile, he settled on his mat and tugged the threadbare blanket over himself. Connor paid no heed to his friend’s irritable comments. They were both shattered and strung out. A good night’s sleep would set them straight. Connor lay down, tucking the blanket around himself. The night was cool but not cold, and the sky clear, the stars twinkling overhead, visible for the first time since their arrival in China.

  When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.

  He’d read that somewhere in a book. He hoped it was true. Because their current situation was the darkest he’d ever experienced and he still couldn’t see any stars to light their way.

  The soup and sleep had done wonders. As the dawn light filtered golden and shimmering into the little courtyard, Connor awoke feeling rested and re-energized. Through the slats of a small window in the courtyard wall, he could see a man paddling his boat amid the morning mist on the canal. Smoke from a dozen kitchen ovens rose lazily into the pale blue sky and the aroma of boiling rice and dumplings wafted through the air. Zhouzhuang was just beginning to wake up.

  Turning away from the window, Connor wasn’t surprised to see Amir still fast asleep, lightly snoring. But he was surprised to find Zhen’s grandmother up and in the middle of the courtyard. She stood, poised like a noble white crane, arms spread like wings, balanced upon one foot, the other pointed with the elegance of a ballerina. Exhaling gently, Lăolao placed her lead foot on the ground and shifted her weight forward, pivoting in a slow arc while her hands circled as if caressing an invisible ball. Pushing at the air, she advanced, then retreated, mimicking the ebb and flow of a wave. Her breathing married to her motion, she moved with a serene grace that defied
her old age. Connor was captivated and astonished at the grandmother’s suppleness and skill.

  Amir sat up and sleepily rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s she doing?’ he asked, yawning.

  ‘Tai chi,’ said Zhen, emerging from the house, dressed in a red blouse, slim-cut jeans and sequined flat-heeled pumps, her long hair looped into a high ponytail. ‘It’s a daily ritual for Lăolao; in fact for most Chinese. We should join her.’

  ‘But I haven’t a clue what to do,’ said Amir.

  ‘Just follow Lăolao’s movements,’ Zhen told him, mirroring her grandmother’s posture and falling into her rhythm.

  Wishing to respect their host, Connor nudged Amir and rose to his feet. They joined Zhen and her grandmother in the centre of the courtyard. Lăolao made no comment, not even acknowledging their presence.

  Connor took up the old woman’s current pose and followed her gliding actions. But what Lăolao made look easy and graceful proved far more difficult in practice. Her every action was measured and precise, requiring absolute control over mind and body. By comparison the two of them looked like bumbling clowns; Zhen suppressed a grin as Amir got his footing wrong and stepped on a plant pot. But even that mistake didn’t disturb Lăolao’s focus.

  After a while, her beady eyes flicked briefly towards Connor and she muttered a few words. Thinking he’d done something wrong, Connor looked to Zhen for a translation.

  ‘Let your limbs flow like water,’ said Zhen. ‘No resistance.’

  Following the old woman’s instruction, Connor relaxed his muscles. The series of movements immediately became more fluid and manageable. Then gradually he began to recognize stances and techniques from his martial arts training: cat pose … a circular forearm block … a palm strike … a wrist lock … a front flick-kick … All in slow motion, but all with definite purpose.

  ‘Hūxī,’ said Lăolao as Connor began to grasp the routine and find his flow.

  ‘Breathe,’ translated Zhen.

  Consciously inhaling and exhaling, Connor timed his breath to match each movement. And, like a key in a lock, he gradually and effortlessly slid into the spirit of t’ai chi. His body relaxed … his mind calmed … his spirit lightened …

  Losing himself in the meditative motion, he felt like a feather floating on the wind.

  Then Lăolao brought her practice to an end and turned to Connor and Amir. Greeting her with a smile, Connor awaited some comment or praise on their progress. But she just grabbed a couple of brooms and shoved them into their hands.

  ‘Is this still part of tai chi?’ asked Amir, dubiously examining his brush.

  Connor shrugged. ‘I guess we clean up.’

  As they swept the courtyard, Lăolao attended to breakfast and Zhen busied herself setting up the table and stools.

  Connor swept his way over to Zhen. ‘Did you speak with your grandmother?’ he asked quietly.

  Zhen nodded.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing fazes her; she’s been through the Cultural Revolution,’ said Zhen. ‘I explained what really happened at the station. She says you can stay as long as you need –’

  ‘That’s wonderful –’

  ‘– but no more than a week.’

  ‘Oh.’ He stopped sweeping, his relief cut short. They’d be under pressure in that time to plan and execute a new escape route. Then again he hoped to be out of the country by then. ‘That’s more than generous, under the circumstances. Please express our gratitude.’

  Zhen smiled and nodded at the table. ‘You can do that by eating all her zhōu.’

  Connor turned to discover that Lăolao had served up four bowls of congee, a thick rice porridge, which was flavoured with pickled vegetables and fermented tofu. Not your typical Western breakfast of cornflakes and milk! But he and Amir had no trouble finishing off the food, despite the unfamiliar combination. The exertions of the past seventy hours had left them with a ravenous appetite.

  After breakfast, Zhen and her grandmother headed towards the courtyard’s front door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Connor, out of concern as well as curiosity.

  ‘Market,’ replied Zhen. ‘We need more food, since there are more mouths to feed.’

  Reaching for his Go-bag, Connor took out several yuan notes from his wallet. He offered them to Lăolao. She waved his money away.

  ‘You’ve already given enough,’ Zhen explained. ‘Remember the thousand-yuan tip!’

  ‘That was for you,’ said Connor. ‘We don’t wish to take advantage of your grandmother’s hospitality.’

  The corner of Zhen’s mouth curled into a smile. ‘Don’t worry. She wouldn’t let you. She said you can do the dishes.’

  Connor and Amir were left alone in the courtyard. Through the wooden side shutter, they watched Zhen and her grandmother cross the bridge and disappear down a lane.

  ‘Can we trust that old dragon?’ asked Amir.

  ‘We don’t have much choice,’ replied Connor. ‘But Zhen’s convinced her to let us stay for a week. So that’s something.’

  Picking up a wire scourer, Amir began scrubbing away at the rice pot. ‘What’s our plan then?’

  Connor slowly and thoughtfully dried a bowl before answering, ‘We need to lie low for a few days, wait until the heat dies down. In the meantime, work out another way to get to Hong Kong.’

  ‘Why don’t we just turn ourselves over to the British Embassy? Explain our side of the story.’

  Connor shook his head. ‘Remember what the colonel said? Equilibrium has infiltrated the Foreign Office.’ Setting aside the tea towel, he took the flash drive from his pocket and studied it. ‘Whatever’s on this drive is worth killing for. We need to know what’s on it before we know who to trust.’

  Amir put the rice pot down. ‘I can open the files if you want. Bugsy gave me the passcode.’

  Connor offered his friend the tiny flash drive. ‘Go ahead. Knock yourself out.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ grinned Amir, happily exchanging the soggy scourer for the drive.

  As Amir booted up his new hybrid tablet and unfolded the keyboard, Connor returned to the washing-up. At the same time he kept an eye on the courtyard window. When Zhen returned from the market, he intended to discuss alternative routes to Hong Kong. But, with both the police and Equilibrium on a nationwide hunt for them, he didn’t hold out much hope. Connor almost despaired at the challenge ahead of them. He hadn’t let on to Amir just how low his spirits were. That was why he’d given his friend the task of examining the drive: not only to find out what was on it but to keep his friend’s mind occupied and off their dire predicament. Yet Connor still believed there was a slim chance of escape. All they needed was Zhen’s local knowledge, some careful planning and a whole heap of luck –

  ‘Damn it!’ cried Amir, cursing out loud and pulling at his hair in frustration.

  And apparently luck was a resource in very short supply.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Connor.

  ‘I’ve accessed the drive, but the files have re-encrypted themselves,’ explained Amir, glaring at the screen. ‘And Bugsy’s passcode no longer works!’

  Connor dropped the rice pot in the sink. ‘So we can’t read the files?’

  Amir shook his head. ‘Equilibrium have used a mutating encryption key to secure their data. That means the passcode is time-sensitive and changes regularly.’

  A sinking sense of hopelessness gripped Connor’s stomach. ‘Can’t you break the encryption, like Bugsy originally did?’

  Amir grimaced. ‘Maybe. I’ll give it a try, but Bugsy was a far better hacker than me.’

  ‘How long could that take?’ asked Connor.

  Amir shrugged despondently. ‘Who knows? Depends on how complex the encryption is. A 128-bit key is the equivalent of trying to find one specific grain of sand in the whole of the Sahara Desert!’

  Connor offered his friend an encouraging smile. ‘Well, you’d best get started then.’

  Connor was just finishing the last dish
when he spotted Zhen and her grandmother returning over the bridge … with two heavyset black-jacketed men in tow.

  ‘I don’t want to disturb your concentration, Amir,’ said Connor, ‘but we’ve got a problem – two big ones in fact!’

  Amir set aside his tablet and joined Connor at the slatted window. ‘I knew we couldn’t trust that old dragon!’ he muttered as the two goons made their approach. ‘Zhen must have told her about the million-yuan reward. Now her grandmother’s gone and turned us in!’

  After Charley’s betrayal and now Zhen and her grandmother’s, Connor wondered if he’d ever be able to put his faith in anyone again. Amir hurriedly packed away his tablet and grabbed his Go-bag. Snatching up his own Go-bag, Connor prepared to make a run for it with Amir – although he had no idea where they’d run to. The water town of Zhouzhuang was a mystery to them and their only safe haven had become a trap. He peered through the slats to look for the best escape route.

  ‘Hold on!’ he called to Amir. ‘Something’s up.’

  Amir returned to the window. Zhen and her grandmother had stopped in the middle of the old stone bridge, laden with shopping bags. The two black-jacketed men were now purposefully blocking their path. On closer inspection, they didn’t look like police or even local security guards. They were more like thugs. One had a flat nose as if he’d fought in too many boxing matches and lost them all. The other sported a thin ribbon of a scar above his left eye.

  ‘Equilibrium agents?’ whispered Amir, an edge of panic entering his voice.

  Connor frowned, unsure. ‘Perhaps. But how did they find us so quickly?’

  The two men seemed to be questioning Zhen and her grandmother. Whatever they’d asked, Lăolao was shaking her head emphatically. This seemed to annoy Scarface, who reached into one of her shopping bags and stole an apple. He bit into it and spat some at her feet. Lăolao fumed and made a move towards the man, even though he was twice her size. Zhen stepped in to stop her grandmother. But Lăolao shook her off and began to berate the thug. Scarface blinked in astonishment as a bony finger was wagged before his eyes. Flat Nose, meaty fists planted on hips, laughed at the old woman’s attempt to scold his partner-in-crime. Tossing the apple aside, Scarface then grabbed the shopping bags in Lăolao’s hands … but she refused to let go. A David-and-Goliath tug-of-war began.