Peter May - The Runner

Lili scuttled across the flagstones to retrieve the oil lamp. ‘I light it?’

‘It would help if we could see where we were going. We’ll find your brother and go straight to the police.’

‘No police!’ Lili said, alarmed.

‘Section Chief Li will not let anyone harm you. You have my promise on that,’ Margaret whispered. But she saw the doubt in Lili’s face as the girl lit the lamp and they both blinked in its sudden brightness. And then a sharp cramp made Margaret gasp.

‘What’s wrong?’ Lili said urgently.

Margaret put a hand to her belly and found herself breathing rapidly. ‘Nothing.’ she said quickly. And she took the lamp. ‘Come on, let’s go.’ She forced herself to straighten up and pull the door wider so that they could slip out on to the terrace.

The lamp did not cast its light very far across the courtyard, and its brightness made everything else beyond its range seem even darker. Lili held Margaret’s arm with both hands, and they made their way across the snow, following the footprints which led towards the far side. Suddenly Margaret stopped, and fear touched her like cold hands on hot skin. Two more sets of footprints converged on Solo’s, coming from the left. They must have come up behind him, soundless as ghosts in the snow. There had been a scuffle. Margaret felt Lili’s grip tighten on her arm, and she swung around to her right, and by the light of the lamp they saw Solo lying in the snow, face up, a wide grin across his throat where it had been cut from ear to ear. He was covered in blood which had gouted in great loops across the snow, deep vivid red against the white, as his heart had pumped desperately to compensate for the sudden fall in pressure, only to hasten the blood loss from his severed jugular. Death had been swift and silent.

Lili screamed then, a shrill, feral scream that split the night air, and the shadows of men came at them out of the darkness. Margaret saw a face, pale and tense, caught for a fleeting moment in the light of the lamp as she swung it hard at the leading figure. It appeared to explode against him, oil igniting as it splashed over him through broken glass. In a matter of seconds his whole upper body was alight, his hair, his face. He howled in agony, spiralling away across the courtyard.

By the light of the flames engulfing him, Margaret saw two other men, frozen for a moment in horror as they saw their friend on fire. All thoughts of the women vanished as they dived towards him then, knocking him over to roll him in the snow, desperately trying to extinguish the flames and stop his screams. Margaret grabbed Lili’s hand. ‘Run!’ she hissed, and the two women set off in fear and panic, sprinting across the flagstones in the long gallery and out into the snow of a narrow street that ran north and south. Margaret’s instinct was to head back for the Donghua gate where Solo had led her into the Forbidden City only half an hour before. She pulled on Lili’s arm and they turned south and ran, slithering down the street, alleyways leading off to their right at regular intervals into obscured courtyards. The sky to the south was orange, low clouds reflecting the floodlights in Tiananmen Square. The roofs of palaces and pavilions curled their dark shapes in silhouette against it.

Behind them, they heard the voices of men shouting, and Margaret knew she could never outrun them, even if Lili could. The cramps in her stomach were coming frequently, and were sharply painful. She put a protecting arm around the swelling of her child and feared the worst.

Lili was the stronger of them now, half pulling her up the steps towards the vast open space that lay before the Qianqing Gate. They ran across the terrace, hemmed in by shadowy figures which, as confusion cleared, Margaret realised were the marble pillars of the balustrade that marked its boundary. The voices of their pursuers sounded very close behind them.

Margaret stopped, almost doubled up in pain. ‘I can’t go on,’ she gasped. ‘I just can’t.’

‘We hide,’ Lili whispered urgently. ‘Quick.’ And she pulled Margaret into the shadow of the gate.

‘Where? There’s nowhere to hide.’

‘In pot,’ Lili said. And Margaret saw that a huge copper pot flanked each side of the entrance to the gate, the reservoirs once used to guard against fire. She allowed herself to be dragged towards the fence around the nearer of the pots, and with a great effort she clambered over it. Lili helped her up over the lip of the pot, enormous strength in such small hands, and she dropped down into its echoing darkness to crouch in the snow that was gathered in the bottom of it. She heard the patter of Lili’s feet as she scuttled across the terrace to the other side. And then silence. Except for her breathing, which was hard and fast and painful, and deafening in this confined space.

For a long time she heard nothing. The voices that had pursued them were no longer calling in the dark. And then she remembered their footprints, almost at the same time as a shadow loomed over the lip of the pot above her and grabbing hands reached in. She heard Lili scream from across the terrace.

Li rode up in the elevator to the eleventh floor. He was cold and miserable and frustrated. No one seemed to know where Fleischer was. It was possible he had already left the country. And the response to their appeal for information on Dai Lili had been poor. People were still afraid of the police in China, and did not want to get involved.

He had no idea whether or not his letter of resignation had made it on to the desk of Commissioner Hu Yisheng, but as yet there had been no response. Not that it mattered now, anyway. However the situation was concluded, its resolution would not be a happy one. All he wanted was to lie with Margaret, sharing their warmth and their child and whatever happiness they could muster. But he knew that, too, was impossible, with her mother a constant presence in her apartment, and his father a black hole in his.

He stepped out on to the landing and took a deep breath, preparing to put a face on things for Margaret’s mother. He had to stop himself from using his key, and knocked instead. After a moment, the door flew open and Li found himself confronted by Mrs. Campbell.

‘What kind of hour do you call this?’ she said sharply, and then realising that Li was alone, looked up and down the hallway in surprise. ‘Where is she?’

‘Margaret?’

‘Well, who else would I be talking about?’

‘She’s not here?’ Li asked, perplexed.

‘Would I be asking you if she was?’ Mrs. Campbell snapped.

Mei Yuan appeared behind her. ‘You’d better come in, Li Yan. We’ve been waiting for her for more than two hours.’

Mrs. Campbell reluctantly stepped aside to let Li into the apartment. He said, ‘She had an antenatal class tonight.’ He looked at his watch. ‘She should have been back ages ago.’

‘What have we just been telling you?’ Mrs. Campbell said impatiently.

Li pushed into the sitting room and snatched the phone and dialled the switchboard at Section One. When the operator answered he said, ‘It’s Section Chief Li. Give me Detective Sun’s home number.’ He scribbled it on a notepad, hung up and then dialled again. After a few moments a girl’s voice answered. ‘Wen?’ he said.

‘Who is this?’ Wen asked cautiously.

‘It’s Chief Li.’ He paused. ‘Wen, was Margaret at the antenatal class tonight?’

‘Margaret? No,’ Wen said. ‘I was there on my own.’

Li frowned. ‘On your own?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sun Xi was with you.’

‘No.’

Li was surprised. ‘But he asked me if he could have the time off to go with you today.’ To his dismay Wen began sobbing softly at the other end of the phone. ‘Wen? Are you alright?’ And when she didn’t answer, ‘What’s wrong?’