J.F. Kirwan - 88° North

‘Then why isn’t she in custody? Someone knock her off her number-two-most-wanted pedestal?’

Hanbury leant his head back to survey the sky through the tree cover. ‘Not quite.’ Some locals meandered towards the snow leopard enclosure, a giggling toddler in pigtails riding her father’s shoulders while his beaming wife shouldered the cluttered pushchair up the slope.

Hanbury hauled himself upright, his paunch leading the way, and headed down towards the central gardens. Nadia and Jake followed. They walked past two elderly women doing their morning exercises. Nadia realised the park was full of people doing warm-ups and tai chi. One tall, reed-thin woman of indeterminate age was practising sword-fighting, her ponytail waving behind her as she executed a flawless series of complex movements, while a younger woman kneeling on the dusty ground, watched with sharp, unwavering eyes.

‘The serious martial artists are over in Victoria Park, the exhibitionists are in the Hong Park over in Central, but there is some real local talent here and it’s more relaxed,’ Hanbury said, wiping sweat from his brow with a second handkerchief. They all sat on a stone bench, and Nadia studied three separate groups of teachers and students learning the tai chi long form. Yang style – she recognised it. She’d seen the Chef practice once.

Hanbury sighed. ‘We sent people in at 4 a.m. SAS.’

Jake spoke first. ‘And?’

Hanbury flourished his hands like a conjurer. ‘And nothing. They disappeared. Dead of course. There’s quite a prosperous organ market here. Being fit young men, they were probably sliced, diced and iced, then shipped in polystyrene to Mumbai.’

Nadia winced. Hanbury was so matter of fact about it. There was more to him than met the eye. He wasn’t standard embassy material. Jake had shown her Hanbury’s file on the plane. Contractor for Her Majesty’s government in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Was he a killer? Hard to tell. Probably one step removed. Not the one to pull the trigger, but the one who set up the target. Which made her wonder …

Hanbury continued. ‘Blue Fan’s location – at least that particular one – is an underground maze of tunnels and chambers. Many homeless live there at night, not to mention it’s a sanctuary for the remnants of a Falun Gong circle. The police won’t enter, they say it will cause a social storm, be used as political capital by those who oppose re-integration, trigger another Umbrella Protest.’

It wouldn’t stop her and Jake going in. Besides, her organs were too irradiated to make any money on the market. Her mind stalled. She’d promised not to think about it. Find Salamander, kill him, then give Jake a good time. That was Plan A. Plan B was take down Salamander and get killed in the process. Plan B, statistically speaking, was Plan A. Plan C was simply get killed in an exotic location .

Nadia switched her attention to the central group of Chinese locals near a dry fountain. Most were sitting in a circle, watching a young man who moved more fluidly than any other she’d ever seen, except the Chef, her taciturn trainer back in Russia who should be coming to their aid soon. This man, though, was something else; it was as if he had no bones or joints, like he was a human snake. The two other groups at opposite ends of the park quickly finished what they were doing, and scuttled over to join the growing audience. Hanbury was mid-sentence, but was mainly addressing Jake, and the tail-end of the nausea still tugged at her guts, so Nadia got up and walked over to watch. She’d been trained in martial arts, and knew a bit of tai chi, but this guy had obviously popped out of the womb doing it.

He finished a complicated routine, where he crouched down and leapt up and spun and kicked, all in a heartbeat, landing soundlessly. Everyone around burst into applause, Nadia included. Some of the people clearly knew him; a local tai chi hero.

The crowd was beginning to disband, when a young woman cut through and walked straight up to the man. She had short, rough-cut black hair, and wore a tight-fitting black one-piece suit with an open Chinese collar. Her features weren’t quite Chinese, they were thicker set. She was slim, not an ounce of fat. The only non-black item on her person was a rectangular grey pouch strapped to her outer right thigh. Sticking out the top were six thin silver handles, with a metallic blue sheen. Blades.

Shit.

The woman adopted a martial stance, right leg forward, right arm bent, her open palm head height. A challenge to the man who had just wowed everybody. The crowd that had begun dispersing converged again, creating a solid wall of people, Nadia on the inner ring. Which meant Jake and Hanbury could see nothing.

The man noticed the challenger for the first time, with a barely detectable flinch. He knew who she was. He cautiously mirrored her stance, and the back of his right wrist made light contact with hers. The crowd stopped breathing. It was like an adult version of the game ‘blink’. Thirty seconds passed. Nadia could see his eyes, but also those of Blue Fan – Nadia presumed it was her, in the flesh. Maybe she could try and arrest Blue Fan here and now. But with what? She had no weapons. Besides, this couldn’t be coincidence.

A few people pulled their smartphones out to take videos, but others in the audience dissuaded them, politely or otherwise.

Without warning, his arm rammed forward like a piston, propelling an iron fist, like he really meant to flatten her, but Blue Fan’s head had moved. She whirled around almost too fast to see, her left arm chopping towards his neck. He blocked it with his own left, while Blue Fan’s back leg scythed around low, aiming to sweep him off his feet. But he was good, and spun in mid-air, landing a few feet away from her. She stood up straight, relaxed, like she was waiting for a bus.

He wasted no time, and attacked in a flurry of hands, feet, knees and elbows, a head-butt or two thrown in for good measure. She evaded them all. She didn’t block them, she simply wasn’t in whatever space he tried to strike. The man began to perspire. Blue Fan remained serene.

The local hero backed off, trying to regain his composure. Blue Fan crouched down low on her right haunch, her left arm pointing forward, palm stiff, as if it was a spear. She sprung towards him, the spear unwavering. He tried to block, to kick, to evade, but Blue Fan countered, her arm always ending in the same location, aimed towards his neck. In the end she tripped him and drove him down to the ground, her fingers pressing into his throat. He yielded. For a moment Nadia thought Blue Fan was going to kill him. But she stood up in a formal statue, as if standing to attention, and bowed to him. No applause this time, though Nadia thought she’d just witnessed the most dazzling display of martial artistry she’d ever seen. Instead the crowd drew back, except a few who helped the man to his feet. Everyone was awe-struck.

No, they were afraid.

Blue Fan ignored them all and walked right up to Nadia, while those standing behind Nadia vanished, and Nadia’s Plan C spiked in probability. Blue Fan’s black eyes bored into Nadia’s.

‘Go home,’ she said, her accent thick, guttural. Like her grandfather’s. ‘Or else you will die here.’

Nadia didn’t know why she decided to say it, especially since she’d not even told Jake yet. Maybe some things were easier to tell an enemy than a friend.

‘I am dying. Might as well be here. Nice and warm.’

Blue Fan’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Nadia didn’t miss the moment. ‘I’m going to kill your grandfather.’

Blue Fan’s eyes relaxed. Were they smiling? ‘ Juk neih houwahn .’ She spun around and walked away, the crowd parting before her. Nadia dashed back to Jake and Hanbury, but a quick backwards glance told her that Blue Fan was long gone.