Peter May - The Firemaker

‘What is it?’ she asked, concerned by the look on his face.

‘Yongli and Lotus are here,’ he said, and he picked his way through the outer room at the sound of a soft knocking and opened the door to let them in.

Margaret sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes as Lotus came through from the other room. She was hefting a large suitcase which she dropped flat on the floor, raising a cloud of dust. ‘I bring you clothes, and things for you to wash,’ she said. She flipped open the lid and brought out a deep metal bowl and a plastic five-litre container. She laid them on the bed beside Margaret and filled the bowl with water from the container, then handed her a plastic toilet bag with soap and a face-cloth, a half-empty tube of toothpaste and a brush. ‘You clean up. Then you dress.’ She pulled out a pale blue cotton dress with lapels at a V-neck and a belt at the waist, like Margaret had seen many Chinese girls wearing in the street. ‘I think this fit. Is too big for me.’

Margaret smiled. It was just as well. Lotus was diminutive. She made Margaret feel like a giant beside her.

Lotus waved a pair of panties at her and grinned. ‘These, too. They clean.’ She crossed the room and drew the ragged remains of a curtain across the door. ‘Men stay outside. I give you help.’

Margaret stripped off her bloodstained clothes. It took several bowlfuls of water to clean the dried, sticky, rust-coloured blood from her hands and arms and neck. Then she sluiced her face with clean water and dried herself off with a small, rough towel. Lotus watched her with admiration. ‘You have ver’ lovely breast,’ she said. ‘I have no breast,’ she added sadly, cupping what she had and trying to lift them. ‘Need wear Wonderbra for cleavage.’

Margaret smiled. ‘You are very beautiful just as you are, Lotus,’ she told her.

Lotus lowered her eyes self-consciously and blushed with pleasure. ‘ Xie Xie ,’ she said.

‘ Bukeqi ,’ Margaret responded.

Lotus looked at her and smiled in wide-eyed amazement. ‘You speak ver’ good Chinese.’

The blue dress fitted Margaret almost perfectly, the belt drawing it in neatly around the waist, the hemline dropping two or three inches below the knee. Lotus had a selection of sandals in the suitcase. ‘I borrow from my cousin and her mother,’ she said. ‘Different size. Hope one fit.’

A pair of cream slingback sandals fitted snugly on her feet, the leather worn and soft and comfortable. There was a matching cream leather purse on a long shoulder strap. Lotus had filled it with make-up and a little spray of eau de Cologne. ‘Beautiful lady must look beautiful always,’ she said. Margaret laid it on the bed beside her discarded clothes and saw McCord’s revolver nestling there among the folds. On impulse she slipped it into the purse and turned back to Lotus. She held her hand and squeezed it gratefully.

‘Thank you, Lotus. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

‘Oh, it nothing,’ Lotus said. ‘You my friend.’ And they embraced for several moments, breaking apart only at the sound of raised voices from outside. Li and Yongli were arguing about something. A moment later, Li brushed the curtain aside and stalked in, Yongli at his shoulder.

‘Ma Yongli doesn’t want to take us to the embassy,’ Li said. The colour had risen on his cheeks.

Margaret looked at Yongli, taken aback. ‘Why?’

‘Because it is too dangerous,’ Yongli said. ‘Where is the first place they will expect you to go? The American Embassy. They will be everywhere, waiting for you.’

Margaret glanced anxiously at Li. ‘He’s probably right.’

Li nodded reluctantly. Margaret looked back at Yongli. ‘But we’ve got to try, Ma Yongli. We can’t just stay here for ever. If it’s not possible to get to the embassy then we will think of something else.’

Lotus turned to Yongli. ‘Hey, lover, it’s no big deal,’ she said. ‘Li Yan and Margaret can stay in the car. We will walk past the embassy to see if there are police around. No one will notice us if we go after nine. There are always crowds queuing for visas.’

Li looked at Yongli, who hesitated for only a moment before reluctantly nodding his acquiescence. He could refuse Lotus nothing.

‘What’s happening?’ Margaret asked.

‘We’ll stay in the car,’ Li said. ‘They’ll check out the street.’

The drive to the Ritan legation area was tense. Li and Margaret sat low in the back of the Honda, wearing straw hats pulled down to shade their faces. Li wore a light jacket over his shirt to hide his shoulder holster and Old Yifu’s revolver. Lotus sat in the front with Yongli, talking constantly, trying to calm him. Yongli was agitated and nervous, and drove badly, almost colliding with a bus in full view of a traffic policeman on Jianguomennei Avenue. ‘Calm down, lover,’ Lotus told him, and put a reassuring hand on his arm. He took a deep breath and tried to relax and managed a half-smile.

Already the heat was stifling, the sun beating in through the windscreen as they drove east. Margaret’s hand sought Li’s on the back seat and held it tightly. But they said nothing. They crossed the flyover at Dongdanbei Street, past the CITIC building, sitting impatiently at every set of lights, Yongli drumming his fingers on the wheel. There was a high police presence on the main boulevards, pale blue-and-white squad cars cruising frequently by, officers in green, sharp-eyed and watchful. But people in the streets were blissfully unaware, going about their everyday lives, happy in ignorance of the RXV virus that lay dormant within them, or the desperate attempts of a young policeman and an American pathologist to make them aware of it.

Margaret stole a glance at Li. ‘Did you tell Yongli?’ she whispered.

He shook his head. ‘I did not know how.’

It is a dreadful thing to have to tell someone they are going to die. Margaret felt guilty now at the relief she had felt the previous night after she had unburdened herself to Li.

They passed the Friendship Store, and at the junction with Dongdoqiao Road, Yongli turned left, cutting across the flow of traffic and making a U-turn into the westbound cycle lane, where he drew into a parking place. His face was glistening with perspiration as he turned. ‘You wait here. We’ll approach the embassy from Silk Street and let you know how it looks.’

Li shook his head. ‘No. We will be too conspicuous just sitting here in the back of the car.’ He leaned across Margaret to look out of the window. ‘We’ll wait for you in there.’ He pointed to a Deli France French-style coffee shop.

Li and Margaret watched for a moment as Lotus and Yongli pushed their way up the bustling length of the Silk Street market, jostling with pushy traders and eastern European tourists in search of big-buck bargains to ship back to Russia by rail. It was a narrow street crowded with stalls up either side. Colourful silk garments embroidered with gold Chinese dragons hung from stands and partitions; great rolls of material were sold by the bundle or the length. Traders smoked and shouted and spat and threw old tea leaves from jars on to the sidewalk. Corrugated plastic overhead shaded them from the sun. It was an ideal approach to the American Embassy, crowded and noisy. At the top end, where the lane emerged into a broader, tree-lined street, would be the tail of the queue that stretched daily up to the embassy’s visa department. Li took Margaret’s hand and they went into the Deli France café and ordered two cappuccinos. They waited in silence.

It was, perhaps, only twenty minutes before Yongli and Lotus returned. It just seemed longer. They slid into seats beside Li and Margaret and Yongli shook his head. ‘The place is crawling with cops, Li Yan. You wouldn’t get within a hundred yards of the place.’