‘Hang on, Yoyo—’
‘Now!’
‘Just one minute. I—’ He chewed on his bottom lip. ‘I know how we’re going to do this. I know!’
Hongkou
The house on Siping Lu, number 1276, had retained the monotonous pastel of some of the blocks of flats built in the Shanghai district of Hongkou at the turn of the millennium. When the weather was gloomy it seemed to disappear into the sky. As if to counteract this, emphatically green-tinted panes of glass broke up the façade, another stylistic device of an era that made even skyscrapers look like cheap toys.
Unlike the high-rises a street further on, number 1276 contented itself with six floors, had generously sized balconies and also flaunted what looked a bit like a pagoda roof. On either side of the balconies, the dirty white boxes of the air-conditioning system clung to the plaster. Listlessly flapping in the wind was a tattered banner, on which the inhabitants of the building demanded the immediate suspension of building work on the maglev, another elevated highway that would lead right past their front door, and whose pillars already loomed high above the street. Aside from this pitiful gesture towards revolt, the building was no different from number 1274 or 1278.
The flat, covering an area of thirty-eight square metres, comprised a living room with a wall unit, dining area and sofa-bed, a separate bedroom, a tiny bathroom and a kitchen, only slightly bigger, that opened onto the dining table. There was no hall, and instead a screen at the side masked off the front door, creating a small amount of intimacy.
Until recently at any rate.
Now it leaned folded against the wall, so that the whole of the area around the front door was visible. Xin had made himself comfortable on the sofa-bed, a little way away from the chair on whose edge Chen Hongbing sat as if lost in contemplation, tall, angular, bolt upright. His temples glistened in the light that fell through the glass façade to the rear and dissolved into tiny droplets of sweat that covered his taut skin. Xin weighed the remote control for the automatic rifle in his hand, a flat, feather-light screen. He had told the old man that any sudden movement would lead to his death. But the mechanism had not been activated. Xin didn’t want to risk the old man bringing about his own demise through sheer nervousness.
‘Maybe you should take me hostage,’ Chen said into the silence.
Xin yawned. ‘Haven’t I done that already?’
‘I mean, I – I could put myself at your mercy for longer, until you no longer saw Yoyo as a threat.’
‘And where would that get you?’
‘My daughter would live,’ Chen replied hoarsely. It looked odd, the way he uttered words without any gestures, struggling to keep even the movements of his lips to the barest minimum.
Xin pretended to think for a moment.
‘No, she will survive as long as she convinces me.’
‘I’m asking you only for my daughter’s life.’ Chen’s breathing was shallow. ‘I don’t care about anything else.’
‘That honours you,’ said Xin. ‘It brings you close to the martyrs.’
Suddenly he thought he saw the old man smiling. It was barely noticeable, but Xin had an eye for such small things.
‘What’s cheered you up?’
‘The fact that you’ve misunderstood the situation. You think you can kill me, but there isn’t much left to kill. You’re too late. I’ve died already.’
Xin began to answer, then looked at the man with fresh interest. As a rule he didn’t set much store by other people’s private affairs, particularly when they were eking out their final minutes. But suddenly he craved to know what Chen had meant. He got up and stood behind the tripod on which the rifle stood, so that it looked as if it were actually growing from his belly. ‘You’ll have to explain that to me.’
‘I don’t think it will interest you,’ said Chen. He looked up and his eyes were like two wounds. All of a sudden Xin had the feeling of being able to see inside that thin body, and glimpse the black mirror of a sea below a moonless sky. In its depths he sensed old suffering, self-hatred and repulsion, he heard screams and pleas, doors rattling and slamming shut. Groans of resignation, echoing faintly down endless, windowless corridors. They had tried to break Chen, for four whole years. Xin knew that, without knowing it. He effortlessly identified the focus point, he could touch the spots where people were most vulnerable, just as a single glance into the detective’s eyes had been enough to spot his loneliness.
‘You were in jail,’ he said.
‘Not directly.’
Xin hesitated. Might he have been mistaken?
‘At any rate you were robbed of your freedom.’
‘Freedom?’ Chen made a noise between a croak and a sigh. ‘What’s that? Are you freer than me right now, when I’m sitting on this chair and you’re standing in front of me? Does that thing you’re pointing at me give you freedom? Do you lose your freedom if you’re locked up?’
Xin pursed his lips. ‘You explain it to me.’
‘No one needs to explain it to you,’ Chen croaked. ‘You know better than anyone.’
‘What?’
‘That anyone who threatens anyone else is frightened. Anyone who points a gun at anyone is frightened.’
‘So I’m frightened?’ Xin laughed.
‘Yes,’ Chen replied succinctly. ‘Repression is always based on fear. Fear of dissident opinions. Fear of being unmasked. Fear of losing power, of rejection, of insignificance. The more weapons you deploy, the higher the walls you build, the more ingenious your forms of torture, the more you are only demonstrating your own impotence. You remember Tiananmen? What happened in the Square of Heavenly Peace?’
‘The student unrest?’
‘I don’t know how old you are. You were probably still a child when that happened. Young people demonstrating for something that had already been fought for by many others: freedom. And lined up against them a State almost paralysed, shaken to its foundations, so much so that it finally sent in the tanks and everything sank into chaos. Who do you think was more frightened then? The students? Or the Party?’
‘I was five years old,’ said Xin, amazed to find himself talking to a hostage as though they were sitting together in a tea house. ‘How the hell should I know?’
‘You know. You’re pointing a gun at me right now.’
‘True. So I would guess that you’re the one who should be shit scared right now, old man!’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ Again a ghostly smile distorted Chen’s features. ‘And yet I fear only for the life of my daughter. And the other thing that frightens me is that I might have got everything wrong. Stayed silent when I should have talked. That’s all. Your gun there can’t scare me. My inner demons are more than a match for your ridiculous gun. But you’re frightened. You’re frightened about what might be left if you were robbed of your weapons and other attributes of power. You’re afraid of backsliding.’
Xin stared at the old man.
‘There’s no backsliding – haven’t you worked that out? There’s only striding ahead in time. Just a permanent Now. The past is cold ashes.’
‘I agree with you there. Apart from one thing. The cold ashes are what destroys people. The consequences of destruction, on the other hand, remain.’
‘You can even cleanse yourself of those.’
‘Cleanse?’ Bafflement flickered in Chen’s eyes. ‘Of what?’
‘Of what was. When you consign it to the flames. When you burn it! The fire purifies your soul, do you understand? So that you are born a second time.’
Chen’s wounded gaze drilled into his own. ‘Are you talking about revenge?’
‘Revenge?’ Xin bared his teeth. ‘Revenge only makes an adversary bigger, it gives him meaning. I’m talking about complete extinction! About overcoming your own history. What tormented you, your … demons!’
‘You mean you can burn those demons?’
‘Of course you can!’ How stupid did you have to be to deny that fundamental
certainty? The whole universe, all being, all becoming, was based on transience.
‘But what,’ Chen said after thinking for a while, ‘if you discover that there are no spirits? No demons. That the past has only shaped you like an image and the spirits are part of yourself. Don’t you then try to extinguish yourself? In that case, is your cleansing not self-mutilation?’
Xin lowered his eyelids. The conversation was taking a turn that fascinated him.
‘What have you burned?’ asked Chen.
He wondered how to explain it to Chen, so that he would understand Xin’s greatness. But suddenly he heard something. Footsteps in the corridor. ‘Another time, honourable Chen,’ he whispered.
He walked quickly back to the sofa and turned on the automatic trigger. Now it was happening. One false move from Chen, and his body would be shredded. The footsteps came closer.
Then the door swung open and—
* * *
Yoyo saw her father sitting on the chair, facing the muzzle of the rifle. He didn’t move, only his eyeballs turned slowly towards her. She sensed the tension in Daxiong’s massive body beside her and stepped inside, clutching the little computer in her right hand. In the background the hitman rose from the edge of the sofa. He too held something in his hand, gleaming and flat.
‘Hello, Yoyo,’ he hissed. ‘How lovely to see you again.’
‘Father,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘Are you okay?’
Chen Hongbing attempted a crooked smile. ‘In the circumstances, I would say so.’
‘He’s fine as long as you stick to our agreement,’ Kenny said. ‘The automatic trigger has been activated. Any movement by Chen will kill him.’ He held the remote control in the air. ‘Of course I can operate the trigger too. So whatever you were planning, forget it.’
‘And where do we go from here?’ growled Daxiong.
‘First shut the door behind you.’
Daxiong gave the door a shove. It fell silently shut.
‘And now?’
Kenny turned his back on them and glanced out of the glass façade at the back. He didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. Yoyo shivered and held up the computer.
‘You wanted this,’ she said.
The hitman looked outside again for a moment. Then he turned towards them.
‘Let’s say yes for the time being.’
‘Yes or no?’
Yoyo was gradually getting nervous, but she tried not to show it. Something must have gone wrong. Why was it taking so long? Where was Jericho?
‘Well?’ Kenny nodded encouragingly at her. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I’ve got a few things to clear up first.’
‘I think I remember that we discussed everything clearly.’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing’s clear yet. What guarantee do we have that you’ll let us live?’
Kenny smiled like someone experiencing an anticipated disappointment ‘Spare us this, Yoyo. We’re not here to negotiate.’
‘True,’ snorted Daxiong. ‘Do you know what I think? As soon as you have what you want, you’ll waste us.’
‘Exactly,’ nodded Yoyo. ‘So why should we tell you anything if you’re going to kill us anyway? Maybe we’ll take a few secrets with us to the grave.’
‘I gave you my word,’ Kenny said very quietly. ‘That should be enough for you.’
‘Your word wasn’t worth much this morning.’
‘But we can play the game another way too,’ he went on, ignoring her remark. ‘No one has to die straight away. Look at your father, Yoyo. He’s a brave man, who isn’t afraid of death. I can’t help admiring him. I wonder how much pain he can bear.’
Hongbing uttered a croaking laugh. ‘You’d be amazed,’ he said.
The hitman grinned.
‘Boot up your computer. Get the encrypted file up on the screen and throw it over to me. You have no options left, Yoyo. Just your faith.’
Damn Jericho, she thought. What’s going on? We can’t keep this bastard hanging on much longer. Where are you?
* * *
Jericho cursed. Until a moment ago it had gone smoothly – almost too smoothly. While Yoyo and Daxiong were on their way to Chen, he had spoken to Tu and managed to break open the weapon chambers of the airbike. He had chosen a high-velocity rapid-fire automatic laser rifle that lay heavy and secure in the hand, started the engine and flown the machine unimpeded to the agreed meeting point.
They had met not far from number 1276 for a quick briefing.
* * *
‘It’s the eighth building along.’ Yoyo had pointed down the street. ‘The back yards are all the same, with lawns and trees and a path connecting them. It’s the left window side, fourth floor.’
‘Good,’ Jericho nodded.
‘Have you brought my computer?’
‘Yes. Daxiong too?’
‘Here.’ The giant had handed him a rather ancient-looking computer. Jericho transferred the fragment of encrypted text to it.
‘Can I have mine back now?’ asked Yoyo.
‘Of course.’ Jericho had put her computer back in his pocket. ‘When all this is over. It’ll be safer with me until then. Kenny mustn’t get the chance to take it from you.’
She said nothing, which he took as a sign of assent. He had looked from her to Daxiong and back again.
‘All okay?’
‘So far, yes.’
‘You go into the flat in five minutes exactly.’
‘Okay.’
‘And I’ll be there straight after, and get his back to the wall. Any more questions?’
They both mutely shook their heads.
‘Good.’
In five minutes.
* * *
That was now! And he was still standing on the corner of the street, because the airbike had suddenly started behaving like a diva who refused to go on stage, however much you cajoled her.
‘Come on,’ he snapped.
This part of Hongkou was entirely residential, and Siping Lu was a feeder road, several lanes wide. There were hardly any shops, or restaurants either. The pavements were correspondingly empty, since the Chinese, even forty years after Deng Xiaoping’s legendary opening up to the West, showed no real liking for strolling as the French, Germans and Italians did. The traffic flowed quickly along, spanned by pedestrian bridges at regular intervals. Because most commuters had been at their desks since the early hours of the morning, the volume of vehicles remained relatively small. From the central strip separating the lanes the massive pillars of the future maglev elevated highway rose and threw long, menacing shadows. A small park with a lawn, a pond and a little wood occupied the opposite side of the road, where old people, divorced from time, practised qigong. It was like watching two films running at different speeds. Against the backdrop of the slow-motion ballet, the cars looked as though they were travelling faster than they really were.
No one paid Jericho any attention in his audible dispute with the airbike, in which he spoke and the machine remained stubbornly silent.
The seconds flew by.
At last he interrupted his monologue and dealt the vehicle a kick in the side, which the plastic casing absorbed so silently that it amounted to an insult. He feverishly ran through the alternatives. As he did so, he went on mechanically trying to start the airbike, so that he was still brooding when the rotors of the turbine suddenly began to turn and the familiar hiss climbed the scale of frequencies, higher and higher, until it finally invited him to fly as if there had never been a problem.
* * *
‘Fine,’ said Yoyo. ‘You’ve won.’
She crouched down and slid the little computer along the floor towards Kenny. When she stood up again, her eyes met Hongbing’s. He seemed to be asking her forgiveness for the fact that he could contribute nothing more towards solving her problems than to sit there frozen. In fact, Kenny’s perfidious arrangement even kept him from throwing himself at the man who was threatening his daughter. He wouldn’t make the fir
st metre. Nothing would have been gained.
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she said. And then, trusting that Jericho was still on his way, she added, ‘Whatever happens, Father, don’t move from the spot, you hear? Not an inch.’
‘Touching.’ Kenny smiled. ‘I could puke.’
He lifted the computer and glanced at the screen for a moment. Then he gave Yoyo a contemptuous look.
‘Pretty ancient model, isn’t it?’
She shrugged.
‘Are you sure you’ve given me the right one?’
‘It’s the one for backups.’
‘Okay, part two. Who else knows about your little outing to forbidden climes?’
‘Daxiong,’ said Yoyo, pointing at him. ‘And Shi Wanxing.’
Daxiong gave her a quick look of surprise. It wasn’t just Kenny who would be wondering who Shi Wanxing was. In fact she’d spontaneously invented the name in the hope that Daxiong might understand her bluff and play along. Now that the hitman had taken her computer, or what he thought was her computer, they were effectively dead. She had to try to keep him at arm’s length.
‘Wanxing?’ Kenny’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who is that?’
‘He—’ began Yoyo.
‘Shut up.’ Kenny nodded to Daxiong. ‘I asked him.’
Daxiong let a moment’s silence pass, a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then, jutting his pharaoh beard, he said, ‘Shi Wanxing is, apart from us, the last person you haven’t killed. The last surviving Guardian. I didn’t know Yoyo had confided in him.’
Kenny frowned suspiciously. ‘Even she doesn’t seem to have known that until a minute ago.’
‘We don’t agree on the subject of Wanxing,’ growled Daxiong. ‘Yoyo thinks a lot of him, for some reason. I didn’t want to have him in the group at all. He talks too much.’
‘Wanxing is an outstanding crypto-analyst,’ Yoyo replied scornfully.
‘That’s why you shouldn’t have transferred all your data to him straight away,’ Daxiong complained.
‘Why not? He was supposed to decode the page with the Switzerland films on it.’
‘And? Did he?’