And then his final hope was extinguished. He could feel the last tiny flare of the spark as it was swallowed by darkness. The face of the man on the bed was ravaged and distorted, but it was not the face of a stranger. The last shreds of denial were ripped from Lu Shi with the force of a hurricane. This thing… this lump of broken humanity… was Lu Jianguo.
Something broke at the very core of Lu Shi’s being — something indefinable and incalculably fragile. He could not have named this thing, and he had no idea what it was. But he was instantly aware of its loss, and he knew without question that it could never be restored. Nothing would ever be the same again.
He stared down at the wounded animal that had once been his son. The raw silk of the red necktie flowed smoothly between his groping fingers.
During his early years, Lu Jianguo had brought his father all the usual gifts of childhood… handmade ashtrays… colorful paper ornaments… picture frames decorated with beads and bits of shell. All the worthlessly priceless trinkets made by children for their parents. The necktie had been different, not just because it was expensive, but because of the care that had gone into its selection. It had been Lu Jianguo’s first attempt to understand his father’s preferences and desires, his first attempt to offer a gift that was utterly appropriate to the tastes and needs of the recipient. It had been a boy’s first act of manhood. Lu Jianguo had been nine years old.
At that moment, Lu Shi had known that he had named his son correctly. Jianguo, meant ‘building the country.’ Looking into the shining eyes of his nine year old son, Lu Shi had seen his own wisdom in selecting that name. Lu Jianguo would build the country. And Lu Shi had not had any doubt that he was standing in the presence of the future leader of China.
Lu Shi blinked, and the memory of that long-past day fell away. He had been so certain that he knew the future of China… the future of his son.
Now, staring at Lu Jianguo’s sheet-draped form, Lu Shi was certain of nothing. After a lifetime spent planning and preparing for the future, Lu Shi discovered that there was no future. There were only dreams and plans that could be snatched away without a second’s warning. The future had been stolen, from Lu Shi, from Lu Jianguo, and from China. For the first time in his life, Lu Shi did not care about tomorrow.
He discovered that his eyes had drifted back down to the flat stretch of bed sheets where his son’s legs should have been.
“Where are they?” he asked quietly.
The man in the white coat seemed to follow the direction of Lu Shi’s gaze. He cleared his throat nervously. “Your son’s legs, Comrade Vice Premier? I… I’m not really sure. One of them was severed before he arrived, and the other…”
Lu Shi silenced the man with a glare. “Not my son’s legs!” he hissed. He turned his head toward the Army major.
The man stiffened visibly. “Yes, Comrade Vice Premier?”
“Where are the men who did this?” Lu Shi asked. “Where are the criminals who…” His voice trailed off in mid-sentence. He paused, and continued at a volume just above a whisper. “The terrorists who… did this thing… Where are they?”
The major swallowed before answering. “We… ah… We believe their plan is to escape through the mountains into India. Given current weather conditions, it is likely that they will travel by way of the Nathu La pass.”
“I see,” Lu Shi said softly. “Then you do not know where they are?”
The major responded with a single shake of his head. “Not yet, Comrade Vice Premier. General Zhou has men and aircraft combing the mountain passes between here and the Indian border. The General has also ordered increased satellite surveillance of the most likely escape routes. We will locate the terrorists, Comrade Vice Premier. They can’t hide from us indefinitely.”
Lu Shi nodded slowly. “What of the prisoner? The terrorist you have in custody… Has he broken?”
“Not yet, sir,” the major said. “But he will.”
Lu Shi turned his eyes back to the bed. “Inform General Zhou that the Army is to immediately surrender the prisoner to the Ministry of State Security.”
The words were spoken calmly, but the major could not entirely conceal his grimace. “Comrade Vice Premier… That won’t be necessary. I assure you that our interrogators will soon have the information we need.”
Lu Shi did not look at him. “I’m not offering you a suggestion, major. I’m giving you a direct order. I don’t want the information soon. I want it now. Do you understand?”
The major snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, Comrade Vice Premier!”
He executed an abrupt about-face, and marched briskly from the room.
Lu Shi stood without moving for several minutes after the major had gone. The only sounds in the room were the sibilant rasp and gurgle of the mechanical respirator.
At last, he looked up and made eye contact with the man in the white lab coat. “Disconnect the machines.”
The man’s face was suffused by a look of pure horror. “Comrade Vice Premier, we can’t do that! These machines provide critical life support functions. If we disconnect them, your son will die!”
Lu Shi turned back toward the bed. “Will he ever be free of these machines? Will he recover enough to leave this bed?”
The man cringed under the hard edge of Lu Shi’s voice. “That… That seems unlikely, Comrade Vice Premier. Your son has suffered massive cerebral trauma.”
The man swallowed. “I… I don’t believe he will ever be entirely free of the need for life support.”
Lu Shi’s voice was low and cold. “Then my son is already dead,” he said. “Disconnect the machines.”
CHAPTER 3
There was a sound somewhere on the other side of the door. Strapped to a steel chair in the dimly-lighted gloom of the interrogation cell, Sonam came awake instantly.
He had been drifting in that strange half-world between consciousness and oblivion. The pain was still too constant and too insistent to let him sleep, but he could find some relief by letting himself slide down into a haze of senselessness.
His face and upper body ached from repeated beatings and frequent jolts from an electric cattle prod. At least two of his ribs were broken, and every breath brought a stab of pain. The bullet hole in his left thigh throbbed in time with his pulse. The vicious bastards had done a good job of patching up his leg; he had to give them that much. The bullet had been removed; the wound had been neatly sutured, and they kept the dressings clean. Of course, their reasons hadn’t been humanitarian. The Chinese Army was not concerned with his health. They just wanted him kept alive for questioning.
Sonam’s interrogators had been careful to keep well clear of the injury. They had limited their attentions to the parts of his body above the waist. That still left them quite a bit of territory to work with, and they had used it with appalling brutality.
The noise was repeated, and this time Sonam recognized it — the scrape of a boot heel on concrete. It was followed almost immediately by the sound of a heavy key sliding into the door lock, and the dull rasp of the bolt being withdrawn. The soldiers were coming for him again.
Sonam felt a surge of panic, coupled with a sudden urge to urinate, or vomit, or both. He forced himself to slow his breathing.
He could do this. He could withstand another round of the beatings. He could live through another session with the cattle prod. He would clamp his teeth together and summon the will to endure. He told himself again and again that he would not answer their questions. He would not betray his people, no matter what these Chinese animals did to him.