Citizen One (28 page)

Watching the comrade’s face, the firelight marbling his eyes. More. There was more information. Reluctant information.

“ ‘Fucking everything’, you said, Comrade Yap.”

A hesitant glance at Piao.

“I understand your reluctance, but tell me of what you saw through your Carl Zeiss eyes, old comrade.”

The old man turning back to the fire.

“On the quayside when the crew were below deck, the tarpaulin, it was a right mess. Caught up, ripped, blowing in the wind. They had to untie it, pull it off completely. Start again. Took about fifteen minutes. I saw what was under that tarpaulin for at least five, six of those minutes. Bodies. A large chunk of concrete with bodies within it.
Wangba dan
. The bodies of girls, several of them or bits of them.”

Cursing the day he had ever looked through the binoculars, spitting into the fire.

“Soon as everything was secured they got up a head of steam and cast off. Moving down river to the sea.”

“That’s the end of the trail, Boss. They’ll have headed out to sea and dumped the loads overboard. Wouldn’t be so bad if we knew what boat it was. Must be fucking hundreds that pass this point every day.”

“True,” interrupted the comrade.

“Hundreds and hundreds. But not all are ex-People’s Liberation Army Navy boats, with the PLAN identification marks painted out. And not all have had a name re-painted on their bow.”

Eyes that had seen the craters of the moon filled with fire.

“MAO’S SMILE
, that’s what was painted on its bow.
MAO’S
fucking
SMILE
.”

From his jacket, Piao holding another bottle of whisky as gold as a
cadre’s
back teeth. Yap and the warehouseman, their features gilded by the brazier’s orange light.

“A bonus comrades, if you will talk of what you have seen to the judges in the People’s Court?”

Yap, hard hands extended.

“For such a bottle, Comrade Investigator, I would fucking marry the judges in the People’s Court.”

The Wizard, spectacles alive, a billion pixels flowing, surging, cascading. An electronic sea rising up, tamed and rippling to the commands of his fingertips on the keyboard.

“When you can’t get what you want legally. Hack. Hack. Hack.”

“What are you doing?”

“Hacking. An organisation or company can be a bit more difficult, but not unduly so for a genius such as I.”

A smile as wide as the 19” monitor screen.

“A personal computer is easier. Most users are unsophisticated and do not value the files that their computers hold. Our Comrade Qi may drive a Red Flag, and wear gold cufflinks. But I will bet my collection of Internet pornography that he runs his computer as a
liu-mang
does with her legs. Open all hours.”

Gold glass tipped to dry lips.

“Even you, Senior Investigator, could use this hacking method. NetBios. The easiest way to hack remotely. All you need is the victim’s IP address.”

Piao already lost, shaking his head. The Wizard smiling.

“I can see that our Senior Investigator in the Homicide Squad is already lost. I will simplify matters for you. Every computer has its own IP address. It is unique to that computer. If two computers had the same IP address on a Local Area Network, then other computers would not be able to figure out which computer they should communicate with. You are a Senior Investigator, think of an IP address as a fingerprint. To hack into the computer you must have its unique IP address. That’s the main problem, but not un-solvable.”

A little laugh. A little drink.

“If you just want to play, steal a file or two, and are not bothered whose computer you get into, you can randomly hack a victim. Make up an IP address, see how you get on. If you have no luck, just make up another IP address, and another, until you strike lucky. You could also use a Port Scanner. A Port Scanner is simply software that can search out for any blocks of IP addresses which you could try and get into. You can download Port Scanner software from the Internet.”

Another laugh. Another drink.

“If you want the IP address of a particular website, that’s easy. Just log on the Internet, like this …”

Fingers across keys. Virtual arrows pushing virtual buttons. Clicks, purrs, computers singing to each other in digital whale song.

“Now do this …”

Digits over digits.

START button … RUN … Typing CMD or COMMAND … OK …

A black box taking the monitor screen in its fist. MS-DOS Prompt. The Wizard typing into it …

Ping
www.yahoo.com

“Yahoo is an Internet Service Provider, but you can type in any website.”

ENTER

“There, see?”

Southern Comfort across his lips. Candied perfume to breath. His finger pointing. White type on black.

Pinging yahoo.com (216.115.108.245)

“That is their IP address. See? Four blocks of numbers. As for our dear PLA Comrade Qi, I already have his computer’s IP address.”

From his pocket, a carefully folded piece of paper. Sharp-edged, sharp-cornered, which he precisely unfolded.

“A little back door help, Senior Investigator. An associate in a major Internet Service Provider.
Guan-xi
makes the world go round, yes?”

“And what am I paying your ‘associate’ for this back door information, if I did not already know?”

“No, no, no, Investigator. Not Marlboro, not Southern Comfort for such a man as this …”

Fingers stroking the monitor.

“Something much, much sweeter.”

Smiling.

“Now we start, yes? NetBios hacking. We will see how sophisticated our comrade is, shall we? This form of remote hacking can only work if the victim that we want to hack has enabled the File and Printer Sharing on his personal computer. That Port 139 has been left open. Let us see, yes our esteemed comrade?”

Fingers, in precise movements. Mouse, in swirling choreography.

START button … RUN … Typing CMD or COMMAND … OK …

MS-DOS Prompt. Its black mouth, white print, opening on the monitor.

Beside c:\windows, typing … nbtstat – a … followed by the IP address.

ENTER.

White on black, headings. Name. Type. Status. The Wizard’s fingers down the second column … digits in brackets. His finger tapping the monitor. A Morse of excitement.

“Tut, tut, Comrade Qi. See the number 20? Our PLA has enabled the File and Printer Sharing option. Not so clever our Red Flag driving comrade.”

Drinking deeply, swilling it around his mouth like a boxer between rounds. But not spitting, swallowing the brushfire’s burn.

“You could skip this first phase if you wanted and move onto what we are going to do now.”

Over keys, confident fingers. White onto black.

“We are now going to view the drives or folders that the victim, in this case Comrade Qi, is sharing.”

Typing, again, beside c:\windows … net view \\

Typing in Comrade Qi’s IP address. Pressing … ENTER.

White onto black. Share name resources coming up.

“So we know, looking at the share name resources that have come up, that the victim’s hard disk name is CDISK. Now we have to pick a drive letter that isn’t being used. Most personal computers will only be using drives up to the letters E, or F. We will pick ‘W’, for Wizard …”

A laugh. A drink.

“What we are now going to do is to connect our computer to the victim computer’s hard disk. After we have connected successfully, a drive will be created on our computer, which will be drive ‘W’, and we will be able to view the contents of that drive. Our drive will have the same contents as the victim’s.”

Typing, beside c:\windows … net use w: \\

Typing in Comrade Qi’s IP address.

“Now you type in CDISK, which will allow us to share the victim’s hard drive. Like so …”

CDISK

ENTER.

No security. No password being requested. Candy from a very un-sophisticated baby. Confirmation.

COMMAND COMPLETED SUCCESSFULLY

“We’re in, Senior Investigator. Painless, yes? A hacking protocol that even you could manage.”

A click … My Computer.

“No doubt, Piao, I’m brilliant …”

A logo. A box. Created, the new drive, ‘W’.

“Fucking brilliant …”

A double click on drive ‘W’. The contents of Comrade Qi’s computer’s hard drive. Skin, flayed, flesh striped away. Bones, bare and bleached. Files. Folders.

“Now tell me, my friend of a Homicide Investigator, where is it that you wanted to go today?”

There is no exact equivalent in the Chinese language for the word, ‘conformity’. Why should there be? In the People’s Republic there is nothing else. In the People’s Republic conforming is what you do.

In the People’s Republic you will be educated to hide your talents, not to be an individual, nor to stand out in a crowd. Not to boast. Not to talk about yourself. Not to mention your accomplishments. You will be told …

‘A tall tree will be crushed by the wind;

A rock that sticks out of the riverbank will be washed by the current.’

Better to be un-noticed, un-seen. Better to be polished by the waters, sculpted to the flow of the river’s will.

To be ‘worn as smooth as a cobblestone’ is a great blessing. A blessing that you should cherish. Meaning that you have not obstructed anyone else’s progress that your character, your personality, your gifts, have not jarred, have not infringed upon the ancient laws of ritual and etiquette.

Even in your facial expressions you should not stand out. You should strive to achieve the anonymity of the still lake, so that you become all things to all people. Your expression and what it mirrors of how you feel inside, how you think, what you think … lost. You will be told to learn the ‘eight faces polished like jade’. And in time, you will learn how to master the technique. Who you are, what you feel, lost behind its stony, polished stare.

The couriered note, on official PSB headed paper, was brief. Unmistakably Comrade Chief Officer Zoul’s hand. A cockerel’s confused, inky dance.

Jing Xuan Blind Man Healing Massage Centre.

670 – 674 Yi Shan Road,

Today. 6.30.

Piao checked the time on the bottom right-hand corner of the monitor screen. 5.25. Yi Shan Road, across the city. It meant a drive against a tide of vehicles turning for home at the sound of ten thousand factory sirens. Piao took a last look back as he slipped the CD Rom into his coat pocket.

“Thank you.”

Rentang nodding. Southern Comfort smile, reflected gold across his mouth as he lifted the glass in salute.

“No, really, thank you.”

The Wizard, slightly puzzled and disturbed. A PSB Investigator who says thank you twice within one’s lifetime, surely the birds would fall from the branches of the trees?

*

Jing Xuan Blind Man Healing Massage Centre, Yi Shan Road, Pu Xi District
.

Through steam, glimpses of ornate tiling, the high-bowl arch of the ceiling, the columns and pillars. Everything in gradations of white and pale grey. Naked figures moving through gauze mist, in and out of the water. On altars of marble, flesh pinched, kneaded, pummelled. The masseur’s strong fingers in rhythmic dance. Thirty to seventy
shou fa
, in sedating tumbles and flicks …
yin
. In stimulating rubs, slaps, pushes …
yang
. Fingers as needles to
ashi
points. With the flow of the channels, against the flow of the channels. Physical body balanced with emotional body.
Yin
balanced with
yang
. All by touch linked with knowledge, linked with the ancestors’ blessing. All by masseurs trained from childhood. Blind children to blind adults.

*

Comrade Chief Officer Zoul raised his head from the bed of marble. His cheek white with its cold kiss.

“Jing Xuan, the Blind Man Healing Centre. You have not been here before, Piao?”

“No, Comrade Chief Officer.”

“A week’s wages to just enter. Of course not. I do understand, Senior Investigator. I have been coming here for many years. Always the same wonderful masseur. A luxury, I know, but necessary. Stress, strain, pressures. Our lives, they are complex. Every day more complications.”

“Yes, Comrade Chief Officer.”

“A good place to meet, Piao. Much business is conducted here. Very good to talk, to make arrangements and agreements. To come to understandings.”

Zoul grimacing at the masseur’s ballet. Flesh, mottled skin, as a plump wave running to shore.

“Yes, understandings. Is that not what life is about, understandings?”

Again, the seventh wave, the highest wave. Zoul’s words escaping from purple tinged lips. Squeezed, as air escaping from a punctured tyre.

“And such a place has its advantages. The masseurs being blind from childhood, they see no face, know no face.”

Ghosts of white, fading into white. And whispers wrapped in
guan-xi
. Debts, deals, favours, sealed with the briefest of handshakes.

“Comrade Chief Officer Zoul, you wish something from me.”

“Always in a rush, Piao. Relax, enjoy this luxury. A glimpse of the future perhaps.”

A flick of his head in the direction of the far wall. Degrees of mist, inlaid in mist; figures robed and disrobed.

“See, the Chairman of the local Party.”

The wasted carcass on the marble slab.

“There, the Secretary of our
danwei
. Those, the
tai zi
of our masters in industry, our masters in Beijing. Power and money. It can almost be smelt, Piao. Yes? Take a deep breath. A deep, deep inhalation.”

But in Piao’s inhalations only the smells that corrupted old men have. Rotting fruit breath and spent sperm, sweet Cologne and the musky sweat of bank notes.

“Yes, perhaps a glimpse of the future here, Piao.”

“What is it that you want, Comrade Chief Officer?”

Flowing before the masseur’s palms … flesh, skin, as pregnant white rollers.

“You misinterpret me, Piao. It is not what I want. Me, I am easily satisfied, Piao. I seek only a quiet life, an uncomplicated existence. But with an officer such as you under my command, Sun Piao, this is not easy to achieve. No, not easy at all. A storm that rains on all rooftops, Senior Investigator. That is what you are.”