Daylight on Iron Mountain (44 page)

J
ake woke. For a time he lay there in the dark, the whole of him trembling as he tried to recover from where he’d been, adrift once more, lost on the floodtide of memory.

It was just after five. From the living room he could hear the faint murmur of the news channel. He closed his eyes, ignoring it, shutting it out. Only the dreams were in his head. He couldn’t shut
those
out. And so he lay there, remembering that circle of spitting faces, their eyes filled with hatred, their thin and ugly mouths accusing him, tearing him to shreds.

Back in the beginning. When they’d first come to the levels.

They had called them ‘
tzu pao kung i
’ – ‘self report, public appraisal’, part of the process of ‘passing through the gate’, of purifying yourself by exposing your weaknesses to those who lived and worked with you.

They argued that the old self had to be stripped away before the new self could be built. It was a technique the Communists had used, under Mao Tse Tung, supposedly a way of making citizens more sociable, more compliant. Which was all well and good, only what was never said was just how vile it was. To experience a
tzu pao kung i
was to have one’s soul flayed publicly. It destroyed one’s trust in one’s neighbours. Twenty years on and Jake could still see those awful, hate-filled faces. Still feel the flecks of their spittle on his face as, one by one, they had leaned in to criticize him, pecking away at him like crows, making mountains of the pettiest little faults. Condemning him for being who he was. And not a word of praise. Not a single utterance in his favour.

People had been known to kill themselves after such sessions.

He had been stronger than that. Or so he thought, for even now, twenty years later, he lay there trembling. Afraid of those memories.
Terrified
.

And it wasn’t only that. Some mornings he forgot. Some mornings, when he woke, it really felt as if he were back there. That all this was a dream. Only then he’d remember, and with it he’d think of everything he’d lost. All of those things that made life bearable, which, here in this other world, were converted into shadows of themselves.

The Big Lie, it touched it all – every last sentiment, every cherished recollection – until, in the end, you began to doubt that any of it had ever really happened; began to accept Tsao Ch’un’s crazy rewrite as the truth. And then you were in trouble, because that was when you began to fall apart inside. When none of it made any sense. When there was no coherence, no logic – rational or emotional – behind the rewritten story of your life. No reason for having done all the things you’d done.

On such mornings he would wake before the dawn, in the fevered grip of some recollection turned to dream. And there, in those waking moments, he would face it – the abyss. That great, gaping nothingness that underpinned his existence. That absence where there should have been a healthy, happy presence.

A continuity.

His life. All the things he had ever done. All of them turned into a lie.

They had told him that what he felt was natural. That things
would
get better, once they settled down. Once he’d grown accustomed to the life. But simply being there,
inside
, in the levels of their vast, earth-spanning City, was a kind of torment. For Jake it had always felt like an imprisonment, like he’d been
trapped
.

Some people slowly fell apart. He’d seen it with his own eyes, countless times, and whilst most went quietly, some went out in a blaze of violence. Ticking bombs, they were. Ticking fucking bombs.

Reconstructed, they said of him. Only that wasn’t really how he felt. No, he felt like an actor who had forgotten his lines.

Beside him Mary woke. She reached out, taking his hand in hers.

‘What’s up?’

The simple touch of her fingers, entwined against his own, warm and familiar, lightened his mood. She was the sunlight of his winter years.

What’s up?
It wasn’t something he could properly answer.

‘I’ll make some
ch’a
,’ he said, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘Just wait there. I’ll bring you a cuppa in bed.’

Jake sat there at the kitchen table, waiting for the kettle to boil, looking up at the muted screen and watching the silent images of Security forces going about their business. Calming things down, making sure there was order in the levels.

He’d checked his messages and as yet there was no word from Advocate Meng. Then again, he’d not expected anything. Not until later. But there was a message from Beth, letting them know that she’d be over in the afternoon.

He was about to make the tea, when the door buzzer sounded.

Jake looked up, speaking to the house screen, ‘Switch the view to the external corridor.’

The image changed; showed a figure in the corridor outside. It was a courier by the look of it.

Jake went out, standing there a moment.
No
, he thought.
You’re just being paranoid. If they wanted to get you, they’d get you.

The buzzer went again.

‘Jake?’ Mary called from the bedroom. ‘You getting that?’

‘It’s okay,’ he called back. ‘Just a delivery.’

Only his heart was racing now. He reached out and unlocked the door, then pulled it open.

The courier – a young Han – smiled at him. ‘Sorry to be so early,
Shih
Reed. If you’d just sign…’

Jake signed, then took the parcel from the boy.

‘Have a nice day…’

‘And you.’

Jake closed and locked the door, then went back through.

Christ, you are being paranoid.

But he had every reason. There was the case, and his involvement – Peter’s involvement, come to that! – with GenSyn, and the fact that he’d been on Tsao Ch’un’s ‘list’ all those years ago. And the war, and…

He put the parcel down, then went across and made the
ch’a
, setting
Mary’s blue china
ch’a
bowl – the one she liked – there on the tray, beside the steaming
chung
.

Green tea, no milk, no sugar. The way they both liked it these days.

More Han than the Han
, that was the expression.

He took Mary’s tray through to her then came back. The screen was still showing the corridor outside. He changed that, then put the volume up, so he could hear.

The cameras were showing Bremen now, or, at least, where Bremen had been until yesterday. Then the view switched and showed Tsao Ch’un’s eldest son at the head of his troops, surrounded by endless generals, sternfaced and very military, Han every last one of them. For a moment longer it dwelt on them, and then it cut again, this time to Mars and one of the great domed cities of the Martian Plains. There were riots there, it seemed, as there had been all over. But things had settled down.

Let’s hope so
, Jake thought, then turned, looking at the parcel and wondering who could have sent it.

Jake picked it up and examined it. There was no clue from the outer wrapping. Going over to the drawer he got out the scissors then came back, sitting down to slit the package open.

Inside were two small tapes.

Again he was surprised. There was no note, no labels on the tapes. Nothing to indicate who these were from or what they were.

Unless they were from Meng and he’d forgotten to put something in with them.

He slipped one of the tapes into the slot at the bottom of the screen.

For a moment nothing, and then the view on the screen switched suddenly, to show a room – a bathroom by the look of it. Downlevel. A small, very ordinary-looking bathroom, with a sink and a big water jug nearby.

For a thirty, forty count there was nothing. And then, completely naturally, without any sense he was being watched, a figure came into the room. Went across and stood before the mirror, raising his chin to locate a spot, there on his neck…

It was Chi Lin Lin!

But even as the young man began to squeeze at the spot on his neck, so the door buzzer went. Once. Again. And then a third time. Urgent, it seemed.

Chi Lin Lin turned at the first buzz, clearly irritated that he’d been disturbed. Then, as it buzzed and buzzed again, he turned from the mirror.

‘Okay! Hang on!’

Jake swallowed. He had a bad, bad feeling about this.

The bathroom was empty now, but he could hear sounds from the other rooms. Could hear Chi Lin Lin unfasten the door chain and begin to speak.

And then a shriek and urgent footsteps, and the sound of furniture being knocked over as Chi Lin Lin tried to get away. For a moment the room on the screen was empty, and then Chi Lin Lin burst in, trying to push the door shut behind him. Only someone else was in the room with him now, pushing at the door with their shoulder. And then, as suddenly as that, they were inside, two of them. Han by the look of them, masked and violent. One of them pushed Chi Lin Lin back against the wall and punched him full in the face, once, twice, cutting his lip open, while the other put the plug in the sink and then filled the sink from the big water jug.

Jake groaned. He watched now, horrified, as the first thug hit Chi Lin Lin again, breaking his nose. Poor Chi, his eyes were glazed now, his legs close to buckling under him. But they were not done with him. Dragging him over to the sink, the first thug plunged Chi’s head into the bowl, the two of them holding Chi down as he struggled desperately to get loose. He was no match for them. One of them was forcing his mouth and nose beneath the water while the other punched the back of his head and neck.

Chi Lin Lin struggled a little longer, his movements weaker by the moment, then he was still.

The two thugs stepped back, looking down at their handiwork, then exchanged a few words in Mandarin, making some joke or other. Laughing and grinning now, pleased with their work. And then they went, leaving Chi Lin Lin slumped there, his face still in the water, his buckled legs wedging him against the casement of the sink.

A Security tape
, Jake realized, understanding at once the significance of that.

And the two thugs?
Tong
runners, probably. Only how were the two connected? Through the Changs, most certainly, but…?

Jake cleared the screen, finding the sight of Chi Lin Lin slumped there unbearable to watch.

He would contact the courier company; find out who had sent this.

And then what?

No, they clearly thought that current circumstances would let them get away with this. They thought…

Jake’s thoughts stopped dead.
Oh God! There was another tape!

He turned, looking at the tape that lay there on the kitchen table, his stomach clenching at the sight.

‘Oh fuck… Oh Jesus no…’

Mary set the tray down on the table and came round to where he was sitting.

‘Jake?
Jake?
Whatever’s the matter?’

He looked up at her, not hiding the fact that his face was wet with tears.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘What is it? You’re frightening me now. Is it one of the girls?’

He shook his head, then, taking a long shivering breath, explained what he had seen.

Chi Lin Lin’s death had been horrible enough, but that of Advocate Yang and his wife was worse somehow. The little cunts had set a fire in their apartment while they were inside, sleeping, then had sealed the apartment door so that they couldn’t get out. The sight of the two of them banging desperately at the door, clawing at it and screeching for help, was seared now in his memory. How could they have done that to them? How could those bastards sleep, knowing they had done that?

Because he was certain they’d have seen it. Certain that they’d have had their own copies made. To gloat at. To watch, time and again, while they considered what big men they were.

Mary sat, all of her strength drained from her, it seemed. He saw how her eyes went to the tapes, then jerked away. How she shivered, then looked down.

‘You have to give up the case, Jake. You know that, don’t you? If they could do this…’

‘You want that, Mary? You want me to give up?’

‘I want…’ She stopped. ‘If it were just us, Jake, then… only it isn’t. How many more tapes do you need to see before you understand? It’s their world, Jake, and if they can get away with that…’

Jake bristled. ‘They
haven’t
got away with it. Nor are they going to. They
only think they have. We’ve still got Shu Liang on our side, and GenSyn, and—’

Mary interrupted him. ‘Haven’t you been watching what’s been happening, Jake? We picked the wrong side. Don’t you understand that? We picked the wrong fucking side. The Seven… they’ve lost this war. It’s only a matter of time now. And once it’s over… then they’ll come for us. You know how it is. Tsao Ch’un will be rubbing his hands with glee at the thought of settling old scores. Yes, and making a few new ones, too.’

Jake was silent. He knew Mary was right. Only how could he let them get away with it? Poor Yang. Yes, and poor Chi Lin Lin, too. How could he let that go unanswered? How could he just sit there and let them shit on those people like that?

He looked to Mary again. ‘I’ll call Advocate Meng,’ he said. ‘Let him know what’s happened.’

If he’s alive. And if he hasn’t seen the tapes already.

While Jake showered and got ready, she watched the tapes, forcing herself to, the sound turned low. Jake had asked her not to, only she had to see for herself, because this involved her just as much as it did him. And because this was her family that was being threatened here.

Even so, it was hard, and as she sat there afterwards, she felt the sheer weight of it pressing down on her.

What in God’s name had they taken on?

Jake was still in the bedroom when a message came through from Meng Hsin-fa. He at least was still alive.

‘
Fu Jen
Reed,’ he greeted her on screen, bowing respectfully. ‘I am glad you are safe and well. This business with poor Yang and Chi…
Aiya
…’ Meng shook his head, clearly pained. ‘Suffice to say, I have placed the matter in the hands of some friends. Though whether circumstances will overtake us…’