Peter May - Snakehead

Deputy Warden Macleod pressed her lips together in an expression of silent disapproval.

In the main hall of H block, the floor was polished to such a shine Margaret could see her reflection in it. A large notice read: HARD WORK APPLIED WITH INTELLIGENCE AND RIGHT THINKING WILL LEAD TO SUCCESS. The deputy warden followed Margaret’s eyes. ‘Warden’s a religious man,’ she said. ‘We believe in encouraging all our prisoners to take the right path.’ Clearly a shiny one, Margaret thought. The deputy warden opened a door to their left. ‘You can get changed in here.’

After she had passed through the security ‘airlock’ gates leading to the rest of the prison, Margaret was met by another female officer in a Tivek suit and face mask. ‘All of the staff beyond this point are suited up,’ the officer said. ‘We got Department of Health people advising us on everything we do.’

They walked down a long, broad, tarmacked area between low prison buildings on either side, passing through locked gates in fences that cut the main drag into sections. ‘They call this Main Street,’ the officer said. ‘This is where the prisoners get their exercise.’

Almost on cue, a group of immigrants emerged from a building away to their left, led by a single officer in a protective suit. There were, perhaps, a dozen of them. They were sorry figures in their white prison-issue jackets and trousers, several sizes too big for their slight, Chinese frames. At least, Margaret, noticed, they looked cleaner.

The officer said, ‘We’re feeding them in batches. Never seen such a compliant bunch of prisoners. They just do what they’re told. No questions.’

They passed through another gate. This one had a sign attached to it. THE USE OF PROFANITY IS A DECLARATION OF STUPIDITY. And below it, in Spanish and English, NO HABLAN; NO TALKING. They were going to have to start thinking about getting Chinese translations, Margaret thought grimly. They had three hundred beds here. But it was never going to be enough. This place was going to start filling rapidly.

In the processing block, at the top right-hand side of main street, sad Chinese faces sat in a caged area waiting to be interviewed, fingerprinted, photographed and documented. They displayed no curiosity about the white-suited figures with their plastic face masks. That uniquely Chinese sense of fatalism that had served them through five thousand years of turbulent history, and most recently the insanity of the Cultural Revolution, had descended on them like a soporific cloud.

Li sat in an office on his own through the back. Margaret closed the door behind her and sat opposite him at a scarred desk. Somewhere, in the hours since she had last seen him, he had acquired a pack of cigarettes. The air was laden with his smoke, an ashtray overflowing in front of him.

‘I thought you gave up,’ she said.

‘So did I.’ His eyes met hers only for a moment before flickering away again.

They sat in silence for a long time before she said, ‘The news isn’t good, Li Yan. INS have been pulling in illegal Chinese immigrants all over — in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco…Seems most of them crossed the border from Mexico. Houston’s just a staging post for moving on.’ She paused. ‘Early intelligence from interviews suggests they’ve been getting “vaccinated” as they crossed the border for nearly three months now. That could mean as many as twenty-five thousand illegal Chinese infected with the virus.’

Li looked at her. He heard the despair in her voice. He knew what it meant. These were numbers that it would be almost impossible to deal with. But right now he found it hard to care. He tried to focus on what she was saying. ‘…and because they’re illegal, they’re not going to come forward, no matter what kind of appeal we make. Even when they get sick. Jesus…!’ She stood up, unable to contain her frustration. ‘These poor bastards really are the ideal delivery system for a bioterrorist attack. I mean, how are we supposed to deal with these numbers? We’re going to have to build a quarantine facility, never mind the legal implications of trying to keep them all locked up. And your government’s not going to want them back. Christ, can you imagine what’s going to happen when this all gets out? As it will. There’s going to be panic. There’s going to be vigilante groups hunting down and murdering Chinese — whether they’re illegal immigrants or not.’

She stopped and looked at Li. And she knew that no matter the scale of the nightmare, Li was battling his own demons. She sat down again and took one of his hands in hers.

‘Have they let you see her yet?’ He shook his head. ‘But do you know? Have they told you?’ she asked. ‘Was she one of the ones that got vaccinated?’

He looked at her, and she saw the pain in his eyes. All he could bring himself to do was nod. And she knew that for him, the nightmare had just got very personal.

It was nearly one a.m. when her driver turned into Avenue O to drop her off at the house, the lights of Huntsville twinkling in the valley below. She had left Li, finally, waiting to talk to Xiao Ling. And now, almost overcome by fatigue, all she wanted was to sink into her own bed and shut out the world for a few hours of precious respite. Tomorrow the waking nightmare was set to continue. Nothing in her most terrifying dreams could possibly compete.

But the night was not yet done with her.

As the car turned the corner, she saw half a dozen large cardboard boxes and several bulging suitcases piled out on the sidewalk at the front of the house. A Ford Bronco sat at the curbside, a figure slumped in the driver’s seat.

‘Jesus,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘What now?’ She opened the door and told the driver, ‘Wait here a minute.’

In the moonlight she saw that the boxes were filled with all her personal bits and pieces, clothes swept out of her closet and half stuffed in suitcases taken from under her bed. Since she had been there, she had not spent enough time at the house to accumulate much. Most of the detritus she had acquired on her journey through life was still in Chicago, at her mother’s home. Which was just as well. No doubt if the Huntsville house had not been a furnished rental, all the furniture would have been out on the sidewalk as well.

She stormed angrily over to the Bronco and pulled open the driver’s door. Professor Mendez almost fell out into the street. He awoke with a start, clutching at the steering wheel and blinking in confusion.

‘Felipe!’ Margaret grabbed him to stop him sliding out of the seat. ‘What in heaven’s name are you doing here?’

He seemed disoriented. He squinted out at the headlights of the car that had brought Margaret home. Then he looked at Margaret as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Margaret?’ And suddenly some mist lifted from his mind. ‘Margaret. I was waiting for you to get back. I must have fallen asleep.’

‘Why?’ she asked, somewhat disoriented herself. ‘I mean, why were you waiting for me?’

He said, ‘I knew, when you told me the other night that you would stop by, that you would not.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘So I thought I would be the one to do the stopping by.’ He snorted. ‘But, then, when I got here, there was an appalling man dragging all your things out of the house on to the sidewalk. I asked him where you were, and he said he didn’t know and he didn’t care.’

‘Bastard!’ Margaret hissed.

‘So I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing with all your stuff, and he told me it was none of my goddamned business. He was your landlord, he said, and he was evicting you. When I remonstrated, he gave me a mouthful of abuse and left.’ He paused. ‘Looks to me like he changed the locks.’