Was it this investigation or something else? I realized I knew very little about the woman I was working with, and the thought that I might not be able to trust her took root in my mind. Was Ma Yuhang, the deputy governor of Qincheng Prison, really her uncle? I only had her word for it. Had she really been able to gain access to China’s most secure prison because of a family connection? Or was there something else at work here? Could she be involved in something that had put Private at risk? If the gunman had been sent to stop our investigation, why hadn’t he shot me? What if he had been sent to kill a co-conspirator instead? Someone who knew too much about what was really going on.
I sat for hours, watching and puzzling over these questions. After a while I used the bathroom and washed my face. As I gazed at my reflection in the mottled, rusting mirror I came to a decision. I needed to find out more about Zhang Daiyu.
I checked she was comfortable, took her purse, grabbed the room key, and locked the door behind me. It was dark outside and the city was quiet. My watch said it was 1:06 a.m., but I wasn’t worried about the lateness of the hour because I was heading somewhere I knew I would always be welcome.
Chapter 19
Being in a strange city, particularly one in which you can’t speak the language, is a little like disappearing. You can never be an active, full participant and are relegated to the status of an observer, but even in that role you have limitations because you can’t fully understand what’s happening around you. It’s both liberating and disconcerting.
It’s freeing because you’re not bound by social expectation, so once it became clear to the taxi driver that my conversation was limited to what I could output through Google Translate, he gave up trying to talk to me and the two of us traveled through the city in silence.
Being an alien leaves you with this daunting feeling you don’t quite belong, don’t really understand the world around you, so you could drift or be driven into danger without at first realizing it. I had no idea whether the driver was taking me where I wanted to go, but there was little I could do about it. According to the map on my phone we were heading in vaguely the right direction and that would just have to do.
So I looked out my open window, relishing the feeling of the cool breeze against my face, admiring billboards I couldn’t understand, catching glimpses of Beijing night owls on the street in vehicles we passed, or backlit in their apartment windows.
I needed something familiar, someone who could ground me in a world I knew. I needed Justine. It would be lunchtime in New York. We hadn’t spoken since the call in the cab on the way to the Beijing office this morning so I dialed her number, but it went through to voicemail.
“It’s me. Just checking in. Love you.”
I hung up and caught the driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror. He smiled blankly and I nodded back.
Thirty minutes later we stopped near Dengshikou Station and I paid the driver and jumped out. I walked the short distance to the Private building. The reception area was lit up but deserted, so I used Zhang Daiyu’s key card to gain access through the side door. I took the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor and her key card got me into the office.
There was a cleaning cart in the lobby, which meant there was probably a janitor around, but other than that the place was empty. I typed the phrase “I work here. I’m visiting from America” into Google Translate so I’d have a calming explanation if I met a startled night worker.
I went to Zhang Daiyu’s office and started by searching her desk. I was looking for something, anything, that might point to why she was targeted. Why would they try to kill her and not me? Was she mixed up in the deaths of her three associates and potentially Li’s? Or was there some other reason? I used the photo-translate function in Google to read documents I found, but there was nothing unusual.
Her office was full of exactly the sort of things I’d expect for a senior manager at Private: case reports, personnel files, financial statements, and key performance indicators. I felt something of a heel for investigating a member of staff like this, but I had a nagging feeling I had learnt not to ignore; the sense I was missing a huge piece of the puzzle.
I was about to attempt to access Zhang Daiyu’s computer when I heard a noise outside, followed by a curse. Probably the janitor. Then came a very clear electronic beep and, even though I couldn’t understand the language, what was unmistakably another curse word. I rose from Zhang Daiyu’s desk and crossed the room silently. I eased the door open a crack and felt my heart leap into my throat when I saw a face I recognized.
Standing in the corridor no more than thirty paces from me, dressed in blue overalls, was the gunman who had attacked us on our journey back from Qincheng Prison. He now had a dark bruise on the side of his face where I’d hit him with his motorcycle helmet. He rubbed his close-cut black hair and focused on the object in his hand. He was holding a slab of C-4 and a detonator. I watched in horror as he slid the explosive device under a filing cabinet.
Chapter 20
He must have sensed movement because I wasn’t even breathing. He turned and our eyes locked in one of those predator — prey moments, though I wouldn’t have been able to tell you who was which.
He was young, fit, and determined, with fire in his eyes, but he was clearly surprised to see me. He quickly turned away and sprinted back through the office toward the lobby. I chased after him but was unable to close the gap as we raced through the building. I was a few yards behind him when he reached the janitor’s cart near the elevators.
He thrust his hand into one of the boxes of supplies and I ran at him, suspecting he was reaching for a weapon. I collided with him as he pulled out a gun and we both toppled over.
I grabbed his arm and directed the weapon away from me as he squeezed the trigger. The shot went wide, but the crack of close fire set my head ringing. I rolled off the man and twisted his arm as I moved, forcing him to make a choice between dropping the weapon or suffering a fractured arm.
He chose to keep his arm intact and dropped the gun. As I reached for it, he hit me with something hard and sent me sprawling onto the weapon. My head was swimming but I managed to look round and see the collapsible baton in his hand. He raised his arm for another strike, but I fumbled under me and managed to get hold of the gun. I could hardly focus, but I pointed it in his general direction and fired twice. The shots missed their mark, but they prevented another assault. Instead, he turned tail and ran.
I tried to shake off my grogginess, but he had got me good. I staggered to my feet and set off in pursuit. With each step, my surroundings came into better focus and I raced into the elevator lobby and pressed the call button. I could see one of the other cars descending and guessed the gunman was in it.
As my car rose from one of the lower floors, I was struck by the thought there might be genuine night-shift workers in the building, so I ran to the fire alarm located beside the elevators and pulled it. A klaxon sounded and was swiftly followed by a continuous ringing and a pre-recorded announcement in Mandarin.
The door opened. I ran inside and hit the button for the lobby. I slid the pistol under my belt and checked my distorted reflection in the stainless-steel control panel as the elevator descended. There was something on the side of my face, and when I reached up to brush it away, I felt the warm cloying texture of clotting blood. I looked at my fingertips, which were coated red.