“Uncle Yuhang,” Zhang Daiyu said, as he stepped forward. “This is my boss Jack Morgan. Jack, this is my uncle Ma Yuhang.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” he said, shaking my hand. “We must be quick. There is a shift change in ten minutes. You must be out before guards who are less loyal to me take their posts.”
Zhang Daiyu nodded and Ma Yuhang led us toward the steel door at the eastern end of the corridor. He used a key card to open it and rapidly led us through a network of corridors. It was a bleak place, and even though I only caught glimpses of dead-eyed prisoners and grim-faced corrections officers, I knew life here was hard, and could understand why the cell walls might be padded.
Zhang Daiyu and Yuhang talked quietly until we reached our destination, a short corridor with five doors either side. Nine of these stood open and I could see into small unoccupied interview rooms. The tenth door was closed and there were two corrections officers standing guard outside it.
Ma Yuhang issued an instruction and the officer nearest to us opened the door and allowed Zhang Daiyu and me inside.
David Zhou, the man I’d seen in the surveillance footage from the night of the murders, the man who’d almost got away from me at Meihui’s apartment, was seated at a table in the center of the interview room. His arms and legs were shackled and the chain that linked them had been secured to a metal loop anchored to the floor. He wore a blue boilersuit and a defeated expression. He glanced up at us as we entered and shook his head wearily. I saw fresh bruises on his face.
Zhang Daiyu spoke in Mandarin as she sat down opposite him. I recognized the word “Private” and saw a flash of recognition on Zhou’s face. I remained silent and leant against the wall while I scrutinized him. He’d fallen a long way from the luxurious lifestyle of only a few days ago.
“I have nothing to say to either of you,” he replied in perfect English. “I don’t care who you are or what you’re here for.”
“The police think you murdered our colleagues,” Zhang Daiyu responded. “If you didn’t, you need all the help you can get.”
Zhou sneered at her. “You’re not here to help me. I have nothing to say.”
“I don’t think you’d be stupid enough to kill the men who were tailing you,” I chipped in. “But even if you weren’t involved, you were there that night. You can tell us what happened. One of our colleagues is missing. The police think he’s dead. We need to know what happened to him.”
Zhou glanced at me. I could tell he had something to say, but he stayed silent.
“Let us help you,” I told him. “If you’re innocent, we will find who really did this and you’ll walk.”
“If you find who really did this, you will end up dead,” he replied. “I didn’t know your organization was following me until the police informed me I was being charged with luring your colleagues there to be murdered. I’m innocent but I’m no fool. Look around you. See where we are. I’m here because someone has declared me an enemy of China. I’m rich, powerful, and have friends. If they can do this to me, what do you think they will do to you?”
“Appreciate your concern, Mr. Zhou, but we can take care of ourselves,” I replied.
He scoffed. “You think it’s safe to go into the cave because it’s dark and you can’t see what’s inside. If you knew, you would run.” He sat back in his seat, stretching the chain to its limits “Run! Run away from the darkness while you still can.”
Then he hesitated for a moment, his expression visibly softening.
“I don’t know what happened to your colleague but you should expect the worst.”
He barked something I did not understand and one of the custody officers opened the door, speaking to Zhang Daiyu.
“He wants to know if we’re finished,” she said.
I was about to reply but before I could say anything, David Zhou cut me off.
“Yes, we’re finished.”
Chapter 16
Zhang Daiyu’s uncle chivvied us back to the lobby, eager to beat the shift change. We were searched again and our belongings X-rayed before we were allowed out.
“What do you think?” she asked me as we crossed the perimeter road to the parking lot.
“He’s claiming innocence,” I replied, “which isn’t surprising. And he’s suggesting someone is out to get him. Someone with the power to put him in there.”
“He doesn’t trust us,” she observed.
“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust anyone if I were in his shoes. Whether he’s innocent or guilty, one wrong word might get him killed.”
Zhang Daiyu nodded and we got in her SUV.
The heat had become stifling in the late-afternoon sun, and I was glad when she started the engine and the first breaths of ice-cold air-con hit me, soothing away the heat and humidity.
Zhang Daiyu drove us out of the parking lot and gave a cursory nod to the gate guard before we joined Huaichang Road, a large and busy highway that would take us out of the valley and back into the city. We sped through fields, past industrial estates and factories, into suburbs that grew denser the farther west we went.
“So what now?” she asked.
I never got to answer her question. Instead, when I looked over I saw something that froze my blood. A motorcycle had drawn alongside the driver’s side of the H6. Both rider and pillion passenger were in black helmets with opaque visors, and the second man was pointing a QCW-05 suppressed submachine gun directly at Zhang Daiyu. I had only had a split second in which to act.
I grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it right, hard.
“Down!” I yelled.
She cursed. She hadn’t seen the threat, and only looked left when I pushed the wheel that way in an attempt to side-swipe the bike.
Muzzle fire blinded us and there was a terrible rattling sound followed by the crack and crash of shattering glass. The bullets missed their target, flying in front of Zhang Daiyu before smashing the windscreen. My maneuver of turning toward the bike had startled the motorcyclist, causing him to go heavy on his brakes. It looked as if the two assassins had been left behind..
Zhang Daiyu cursed again and took the wheel, but she couldn’t see very well as the remnants of the shattered windscreen blocked her view.
I slid off my jacket, wrapped it around my arm and punched and swept away the cracked white glass, creating a hole through which we could both see the road ahead.
“Turn off here,” I said, gesturing to an exit ramp to our right.
I turned my head and saw the bike directly behind us.
She stamped on the brakes. As she followed up and spun the wheel, the rear window erupted under a burst of machine gunfire.
There was a cacophony of horn blasts and the screech of tires as we cut across another lane of traffic. Craning my neck around, I saw the bike follow. The pillion rider was reloading.
We shot onto Changcui Road, a broad street that cut through the surrounding residential area. We went east, passing beneath the highway, racing by low-rise apartment blocks and houses to either side of the street. There were vehicles parked the whole way along, and a few shops and restaurants at the base of the buildings flanking us, which drew crowds of diners. This was no place for a chase; too many lives would be put at risk.
“Stay close to the side of the street,” I said, signaling left. “And get ready to stop.”
I glanced back to see the man on the pillion raise his gun.
“Emergency stop... now!” I yelled, and Zhang Daiyu stepped on the brakes again.
The tires screamed as they bit into the road, and the motorcyclist had no choice but to swing right to try and avoid us. As the bike came past, I flung open my door and the bike tore it off. The collision had the desired effect, though, and the door became tangled beneath the bike’s wheels and frame and took it down. The CFMoto 650GT and its riders skidded along the road for thirty feet before hitting a parked truck.