Peter May - The Runner

‘That would be good.’

Macken resumed their journey through the remaining contacts. The gym was well equipped with every mechanical aid to muscle-building you could imagine, plus some. Macken cackled. ‘Looks like the kind of place they might have put you in the Spanish Inquisition.’

There was a shot of the toilets, marble and mirrors in abundance. ‘Goddamn john smelled like a flower shop,’ Macken said. ‘Gives the lie to that old joke about Chinese toilets. You know it?’ Li shook his head. ‘How long does it take to go to the toilet in China?’ Li shrugged and Macken grinned. ‘As long as you can hold your breath.’ He laughed at his own wit. ‘But that place is so goddamn clean you could eat your dinner off the floor.’ Li was not amused.

They came to a picture of a large office with a checkerboard wall at one end opposite a huge horseshoe desk and a glass meeting table with five chairs around it. One wall was also completely glass, with an armed security guard standing self-consciously by the door. The room was filled with potted plants, and a young woman stood by the desk dressed all in black, flared trousers and a polo-neck sweater. Her hair was drawn back from an attractive, finely featured face with a slash of red lipstick. ‘That’s JoJo,’ Macken said, and he turned to Qian. ‘You know, the one I told you about yesterday.’ Qian nodded.

Li said, ‘The one you thought was missing.’

‘I don’t just think it,’ Macken said. ‘She is missing.’ His flippancy deserted him, his twinkling expression replaced by a frown of genuine concern. ‘After I spoke to you people yesterday I made a real effort to try and track her down. She’s not at her work. I phoned several times and they said she hadn’t been there for days. I’ve called her apartment about ten times. No answer. Her cellphone’s been disconnected. Her emails get returned as undeliverable. I even got Yixuan to call her parents, but they haven’t heard from her in weeks.’ He half smiled. ‘My reasons for wanting to find her ain’t entirely altruistic. She set this job up for me, but I ain’t signed a contract yet, and without a contract there ain’t no money.’

‘When did you take the pictures?’ Li asked.

‘Day before yesterday.’

‘So she’s only really been “missing” for two days.’

Macken thought about it and shrugged. ‘I guess. Seems longer.’

Li nodded towards the screen. ‘Why the armed guard?’

‘Oh, they got this big collection of priceless artefacts in the boss’ office.’ He pointed at a door beyond the desk. In there. ‘Vases, jewellery, ancient weapons, you name it. Worth a goddamn fortune.’

‘Do you have a picture of it?’

‘Nah. They wouldn’t let me in there. I was real damn curious. Asked, you know. But they weren’t having any of it.’

Li turned to Qian. ‘I think we’d better pay this place a visit, don’t you.’

The Beijing OneChina Recreation Club was in the heart of a redeveloped area of Xicheng District on the west side of the city. The twin apartment blocks above it had views over Yuyuantan Park and the lake. The entrance sat back from the road, behind a high stone wall. Armed security guards manned electronic gates. Beyond, a small ornamental garden had been created in the heart of what was otherwise pure cityscape. A cobbled path serpentined its way through manicured grass to a summerhouse with exaggeratedly up-turned eaves at its four corners. An artificial stream, which in summer would be alive with carp, was frozen solid. Great attention had been paid to the feng shui of this place. Li and Qian climbed nine steps to the doors, and Li glanced into a large glass room displaying Ming vases and artefacts of war, bronze weapons two thousand years old, a skull of earliest Han man. Facing them as they entered were three gold statuettes fronting a huge tapestry woven in gold thread. Li had called ahead on his cellphone, and they were expected. Two girls in shimmering gold qipaos bowed to them in greeting as they entered, and a tall young man in a dark suit asked them to follow him.

He led them through hushed corridors, walls lined with pale hessian, past polished beechwood doors, tables with statues and flowers, and unexpected groupings of sofas and lounge chairs in odd private corners. They passed the glass wall of what Li recognised as the communications centre. The girls at the computers glanced at them as they passed. At the end of the hall they took an elevator up two floors to the administration level and out into the office where JoJo had stood by her desk watching Macken take his photographs. Thick-piled carpets deadened their footsteps as the flunky led them past the armed guard at the entrance. He knocked on the door behind JoJo’s empty desk and waited until he heard a voice invite them to enter. Then he opened the door and let Li and Qian in.

Li recognised the CEO from the photograph. He was young, perhaps only thirty, with the square-jawed, round-eyed good looks of a Hong Kong film actor. His silk suit was beautifully cut, and as he shook Li’s hand, Li noticed that his fingernails were not only manicured, but glazed with a clear varnish.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Section Chief Li,’ he said. ‘Your reputation goes before you. I’m Fan Zhilong, chief executive of the company, and the club.’ His cheeks dimpled attractively when he smiled, and his manner was easy and confident. He gave Qian’s hand a cursory shake. ‘Come in, come in.’ He closed the door behind them, and they crossed an acre of cream carpet to a boomerang-shaped black lacquer desk. Three chairs were arranged along the near side of it, and Fan urged them to be seated while he rounded the desk to his executive leather. He lifted a couple of business cards and handed one to each of them and then sat back.

Li glanced at the card. Fan Zhilong was CEO of OneChina Holdings Limited, a company listed on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange, and owners of the Beijing OneChina Recreation Club. He looked up to find Fan regarding him thoughtfully. ‘What can I help you with, Section Chief?’ The desk in front of him was almost empty. There was a diary, a blotter, a pen holder and a leather-bound calculator. At the far end was a keyboard and flat screen monitor. Mr. Fan did not seem like a man overburdened with paperwork.

‘I am hoping that I can, perhaps, be of assistance to you,’ Li said. And as he spoke, he noticed the large alcove beyond the desk. The priceless artefacts of which Macken had spoken were arranged on black shelves lining the three walls, each with its own spotlight. Plates, vases, daggers, tiny figurines. A baby grand piano sat in the centre of the space, beautifully carved, polished and lit in the cross-beams of the various spots.

Fan’s dimples reappeared. ‘I’m intrigued.’

‘We are investigating a break-in at the studio of the photographer you commissioned to photograph the club for your publicity brochure.’

‘Ah, yes. Mr. Macken. The American. Of course, the job has not exactly been promised to him. We still have to approve his submission.’ Fan paused. ‘A break-in?’

‘Yes,’ Li said. ‘What’s odd is that the only thing stolen was the negative of the film he shot here in your club.’

Fan looked suitably perplexed. ‘Why would anyone want to steal that? Are you sure that’s what they were after?’

‘They came back the following night when they learned he had taken contact prints and demanded that he hand them over.’

Fan frowned. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s all very puzzling, but I don’t really see what it has to do with us.’

‘Perhaps nothing at all,’ Li said. ‘But it turned out that Macken had copied his contact prints into his computer. So fortunately he still had copies that we were able to look at.’ He lifted a large envelope. ‘In fact he was able to run off prints for us.’