The Chinese Assassin (45 page)

Puzzled by the heavy irony in her voice, Scholefield turned back from
the
window to look at her. Her
features
were barely visible in the
suffused
glow of the dim street
lights.
‘But
since
liberation we have
allowed
the
building
of higher
walls— especially
to contain the
enemies
of the
Party.’
She was
staring
past him through the
front windscreen.

He looked out in
time
to see the
street sign
at
the entrance
to a narrow
rutted alley between
two rows of
single-storey houses.
He read it aloud to himself
and
turned
back
q
uic
kl
y
to look at her. ‘Tsao Lan Tse Hutung—Grass Mist Lane. Your notorious
prison for foreigners!’

She laughed shortly. ‘The detention
centre of the Peking Bureau of
Public
Security, if we are to be perfectly correct, built on
the
site of a poetically-named Buddhist monastery. But it
is
not
just
for foreign spies—it is for counter-revolutionaries of
all kinds.’

The headlights of the Warszawa flared into
two
large yellow
circles on a massive iron
gate in a twenty-five
foot wall and a
uniformed guard stepped out of the shadows holding a rifle. He inspected the driver’s pass then held
his arm
in
through
the
window
for Scholefield’s. He
returned
it without comment
after
reading it
in the
light of headlamps, then checked those of Tan
Su
i
-ling
and
the
hollow-chested cadre. The
guard walked
slowly back to a sentry box at the side of the gate
and
there
was a
rattle of
chains
as the gate
was
wound up precisely to a height
that
would allow the Warszawa to enter.

Immediately
the
car
had
passe
d
underneath, the iron gate
thumped
back into
its beaten earth
base
and
Scholef
i
eld watched as the
headlights
searched across an inner compound. Another gate in another twenty-foot wall swung open as they drove towards it
and
Scholefield
caught
a
glimpse
of
two
more armed
guards in khaki
jackets standing in the shadows on either side as they went
through. Inside
they stopped at a third gate, which eventually parted in the
middle
and swung slowly open after another inspection of
their
passes. The Warszawa bumped
through across
rutted mud
and halted
in the inner courtyard of the prison.

Scholefie
ld
’s door
was
immediately wrenched open from outside. As he stepped out into the shadowy compound the fierce
saturated
heat of the night flooded into hi
s
throat, making
him gasp.
A long, low growl of
thu
n
der rumbled
slowly across the sky to the north
and
as he
looked
up towards the sound he
noticed
for the
first time
the
electrified
barbed
wire
strung
round
the top of
the
high walls. Four dimly-lit
machine-gun emplacements had been built
into the corners
and
the silhouetted head
and
shoulders of the
four
men
manning
them were clearly visible,
gazing watchfully
down into the
yard.
There
was
a damp, sour smell of rotting
vegetation
in the compound
and
when
the thunder died away, the distant night screech of cicadas was the only sound that penetrated
inside the walls.

‘You will act precisely in accordance with my
instructions!’

Scholefield
felt a
hand seize his right arm and
he
was swung bodily round.
He found himself
staring
into the face of a
heavily
built
Security Bureau man. He
released his arm and
snapped his
fingers
in
Scholefield
’s face. ‘Your
identification document!’

Four or five
guards
armed with rifles stood grouped
behind
the man who
had
spoken. Scholefield
noticed as
he
handed
over the
green
pass that he wore an officer’s jacket
with four
pockets.
One
of the
guards
shone a
torch
so
that
the senior man could make the inspection
while
two
others moved quietly
round to take
up station on either side of Scholefield.
The document was
subjected to a
minute scrutiny lasting
two full
minutes. Then
the officer looked up at
Scholefield
. ‘Remove his
cap!’

The
cap was snatched
from his bead
from behind and the guard with
the torch shone it full on Scholefield’s face. The officer stared at him for a long moment, then
looked back
at
the
photograph on the
pass. ‘Hao-li,’
he
said
at last,
and
put the pass into one of his jacket
pockets.
Without another word he turned
and started off across
the
compound.
The two men at his shoulder
grunted and
nudged Scholefield
with
their rifles, indicating that he
should
follow. He
looked quickly
round at
the Warsza
w
a.
The
doors
were
cl
osed
and
the curtains remained
drawn.
Neither the driver,
Tan Sui-ling
nor the hollow-chested cadre had moved from their seats.

The
two guards
began walking
and
because they stood shoulder to shoulder
behind
Scholefield he
was
forced to
start forward across
the yard to prevent himself falling. As he walked he heard the Warszawa’s
engine start
up
and the creak
of the
gates opening to allow
it to depart.
Ahead
of him a square of light
appeared
at
the bottom
of
the wall
on
the far side
of
the compound as
the
senior
officer
pulled open a
door
and stepped
into a
dimly-lit passage. He waited until
Scholefield
and
the
two guards
were
inside
then closed the
door and
shot heavy bobs into place
top and
bottom.
Scholefield
stopped, looking
round
uncertainly. He saw
the
sen
i
o
r
officer casually unbutton the
leather
h
olster on
his
belt
and pull
out a
heavy
Colt 45 revolver. He motioned
along
the corridor with
one flick
of
its barrel and waited until
Scholefi
el
d had
begun
walking, before falling into step behind
him.
The
two
guards with rifles followed.

They walked in silence, the scuff of
their
regulation-issue canvas-and-rubber slippers echoing
softly
in the empty passages.

Occasionally they splashed through puddles of condensation dripping onto the bare concrete
floor
from
rusting
overhead cold-water pipes. The air within the
building was
hotter
and
more rancid than in the compound and the choking
humidity
magnified the mingled stench of human excrement and
sweat
given off by incarcerated men.
Scholefield
felt the perspiration begin trickling down the
inside
of his
arms and legs
as he
walked.
They passed a series of heavy, unpainted wood doors with only a spyhole at eye level
and
he fancied he heard the
faint dragging
movement of a body shifting
behind
one of them.

‘They
came
to a brightly-lit
deserted
lecture
ha
l
l
with a bare
wooden floor and chairs stacked
at
the
sides. A huge coloured portrait of Mao
Tse-tung
hung above a dais at one end. The officer nudged Scholefield in the
back with
the barrel of the revolver
and
all four men crossed the
hall
at a
fast walk.

On the other side, the passage
was
narrower
and
lit at infrequent
intervals
by single naked bulbs.
The officer caught
the sleeve of
Scholefield
’s jacket and motioned him to stop beside a plain
wooden
door without a spy
h
ole. He
produced a key
and opened it. Scholefield
saw
a narrow flight of steep
red
brick steps. One of the
two guards
produced a torch
and flashed
it into the darkness. The offic
e
r motioned
Scholefield
ahead of them
and
the group
started
downward.

At the
bottom
an iron door
blocked
the
staircase.
The officer produced another key and opened this. The steps continued on
the
other side but the passage
was
narrower and
Scholefield
’s shoulders
began
to brush the
walls
on either side.
Behind
him all
he heard was the soft
rustle
of the
guards’ rubber-soled
slippers on the
brick steps.