‘Then we should have him moved.’
‘Perhaps, but the transfer itself might also provide the opportunity for Yin to be taken. As you well know, millions of Chinese secretly share Yin’s religion. No doubt, many are also spies for the Vatican.’
The conversation seemed like a game of Wei Ch’i to Liu, with the thrust of Tian’s moves narrowing the options on the board.
‘Yin’s situation is little known outside China, and that provides us with an opportunity to resolve this situation quietly.’ Tian handed Liu the folder. ‘This authorization comes from Premier Wen himself.’
Liu smiled as he read the execution order — a document he wished had come to him in August. ‘I will see to it personally.’
‘And if you discover anything out of the ordinary, take care of it as well. I don’t believe anyone you discover illegally inside our borders will be missed.’
27
The door to Kilkenny’s cell rolled open, a pair of guards rushed inside, and the beating began. Kilkenny curled himself into a ball to protect his head and chest, letting his back and legs absorb the brunt of the assault. His attackers alternated between jabbing kicks and lash strokes with flexible plastic canes.
Kilkenny deliberately kept his breathing shallow, exhaling sharply in between blows. He felt blood pulsing from ruptured vessels into the traumatized layers of his skin and bruises knotting deep within his muscles. Stricken nerves fired signals of alarm to Kilkenny’s brain until he could no longer identify distinct points of injury. Pain was everywhere. Then, as quickly as it started, the violence ceased.
Someone was shouting angrily at the guards who had beaten him. Kilkenny couldn’t understand the Chinese words, but the tone and tenor were unmistakable. He stole a glance at the source of his reprieve, and through watery eyes saw a figure silhouetted in the doorway.
The guards manhandled Kilkenny as they shackled his wrists and ankles, and cursed at him violently when they stood him up and his battered legs threatened to buckle beneath him. Again, the officer barked an order and the guards complied. They held Kilkenny upright as the officer stepped into the dark cell and covered his head with a black bag. Kilkenny was half-walked, half-dragged from his cell and down the corridor.
Despite having familiarized himself with the prison layout, Kilkenny quickly became disoriented during the quick march through the facility. He lost count of the doors they passed through, but knew immediately that the last one had led outside. The sound of trucks and machinery and voices filled the air — the prison far more active than when he had arrived in the middle of the night.
Gravel crunched underfoot as the march continued. Kilkenny heard crows cawing overhead. The march suddenly stopped. A voice grunted an order, and the guards holding Kilkenny’s arms pushed him down on his knees.
Kilkenny heard a rustle of paper, and a voice began to speak with the official tones of a pronouncement. Whatever the meaning, Kilkenny did not like the sound of it. When the speaker finished, he gave another order.
Again, footsteps crunched in the gravel, though off to Kilkenny’s side. He heard what sounded in tone like a question, though directed at someone else. What startled him was the reply.
‘As the Lord has forgiven me,’ Yin said clearly in English, ‘so I forgive you.’
Yin’s words were followed by the sound of a muffled gunshot and a body falling to the ground.
Someone tugged at the hood covering Kilkenny’s head, pushing his chin down to his chest. Through the bunched folds of the cloth, he felt the barrel of a pistol press against the base of his skull. Among the flurry of thoughts running through his head, Kilkenny imagined the Chinese government trying to bill his father for the bullet and the response they would receive.
As if in slow motion, the sounds of the pistol mechanism vibrated against his skull. Because of his long experience with firearms, he could visualize the trigger bar drawing forward, pivoting the safety lever to allow the firing pin to move while at the same time releasing the hammer. The hammer then struck the firing pin, ramming it into the primer at the base of the chambered round.
It all took scarcely a second. The shock wave emanating like a thunderclap from the guard’s QSZ-92 nine-millimeter pistol reached Kilkenny’s eardrums just as he felt the impact against the back of his head. He saw stars in the darkness of the hood, then nothing. Kilkenny’s legs buckled and he lifelessly fell to the ground.
28
‘I am honored by your visit,’ Zhong said, greeting Liu Shing-Li with the deference reserved for an important visitor from Beijing.
The warden of Chifeng Prison was a stocky man whose once thickly muscled body had softened over time. He stood a full head shorter than Liu, his pate smooth and hairless by choice rather than genetics — lice thrived inside the prison, and the warden feared a personal infestation. Liu returned Zhong’s bow, though with less formality.
‘And I at your receiving me on such short notice. I hope my unannounced arrival is not inconvenient for you. The nature of my visit requires discretion.’
Zhong assumed from Liu’s polite words that the Ministry of State Security felt it was either unwise or unnecessary to inform him of this visit. He hoped the latter was the case. He motioned Liu to a small circular conference table and sat opposite him.
‘Would you care for some tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ Liu replied with a hint of boredom at the obligatory pleasantries. In situations like these, he envied the directness of Americans.
‘How may I be of service to you?’ Zhong asked.
Liu opened his briefcase and extracted from it the thin packet of documents he received from Minister Tian. ‘The Supreme People’s Court has ordered that the death sentence on one of your prisoners be implemented without further delay.’
Zhong appeared mildly surprised by Liu’s statement. Execution orders were normally routed internally by the Ministry of Justice, not hand delivered by representatives of the Ministry of State Security. He accepted the documents and quickly read through them. Most contained familiar legal boilerplate authorizing the execution. The signatures, rendered in crisp clear strokes, came from the court’s most senior jurists.
‘Is the prisoner to be executed by lethal injection or—’
‘He is to be shot,’ Liu replied without waiting for the rest of the question.
Zhong deliberately avoided reading the name of the condemned man until the end, in a small way granting a few extra moments of life to someone who would soon be dead. It was a small act, but one that created the personal illusion of compassion for a man who otherwise had none. As he read the name, Zhong’s right eyebrow arched up like the back of an angry cat.
‘Is there a problem?’ Liu asked.
‘We execute a number of prisoners each year,’ the warden replied, ‘but never the same one twice.’
Liu’s gaze tightened on the man. ‘Explain.’
‘This is the second time today that I have received an order to execute Yin Daoming.’
‘Show me,’ Liu demanded.
Zhong went to his desk and retrieved a file from a gray metal tray. He handed it to Liu. The documents from the People’s Supreme Court were virtually identical to the ones Liu brought from Beijing, including the signatures.
‘Have your men carried out this order?’ Liu asked.
Zhong shook his head. ‘The officer who delivered the order, a Captain Jiao, and her men are handling the executions. My men are observing, of course.’
‘Executions? Someone in addition to Yin is to be executed?’
‘Yes. A foreigner. He was brought in late last night pending a final decision from the court on his sentence. A diplomatic issue, I believe. I received the execution orders this morning — both prisoners were being escorted from their cells when you arrived,’ Zhong explained. ‘Normally, I would be present in my official capacity to observe the implementation of a death sentence, which I expect has just been carried out.’