Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

‘Well, don’t tell your mother that. You put her through hell every time you go off on one of your damn’ fool adventures. She worries herself sick.’

Luca’s smile turned brittle.

‘Come on, Dad, you don’t need to get like this every time I mention climbing.’

There was a long pause while his father took off his glasses and inspected one arm thoughtfully.

‘Look, Luca, your mother and I have been speaking about a few things while you were away. I think perhaps I made a mistake putting you in domestic sales. I thought it would suit you because of the way you are, but the reality is it doesn’t challenge you enough. So I’ve come up with something else I think you might like. A promotion, let’s call it.’

Luca’s heart sank in his chest as he looked at the expression on his father’s face. He could toughen himself up to deal with the undercurrents of disappointment and disapproval, but when his father tried to be nice, that was the worst. That was when he really did feel like an ungrateful jerk.

‘Look, I know you don’t like being cooped up in this office, so the idea is to send you to some of the places where the market is starting to open up a bit. Dubai and Manila, for example. You can set up meetings with potential clients . . . form your own relationships. You’d be good at that. And you’d get all the perks, you know. Five star hotels, a driver for the days when you’re there. We know you love travelling . . .’

Luca shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Look, Dad, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you trying to help me out. And I know that there are people next door who’d queue up for that kind of posting. But I’ve already tried to tell you, this isn’t what I want to do long-term.’ He spread his hands apologetically. ‘I’m just not a car salesman.’

His father’s face darkened instantly. ‘Don’t be such a bloody snob, Luca,’ he snapped. ‘There’s only so long you can persist with this expensive hobby of yours. Soon enough the sponsorship will dry up, especially if you keep on failing on expeditions like this last one. Your mother and I had thought that after the whole Everest débâcle, you would have seen sense and packed the whole thing in. But, well . . .’

Luca’s jaw clenched as he stared back at his father.

‘You’ve never even bothered to listen to my side of the story.’

‘I hardly think I need to! It was splashed all over the papers before you even got back. I read quite enough without needing to hear any more of the sordid details. I mean, your mother even had some of her friends . . .’

He didn’t finish his sentence but instead leaned forward across the desk, his thumbs buckling beneath his weight.

‘I shouldn’t have to spell this out, Luca, but we have the family name to consider.’

Luca remained motionless, desperately resisting the urge to fight back. Family name? Christ, his father could be such a prick.

‘I know finding your path in life is difficult,’ he continued, his voice becoming abstract as if he were dealing with one of the office juniors. ‘But you’re not so young any more, and there’s only so long you can keep living by your wits and not assuming real responsibilities.’

Luca closed his eyes briefly before taking a deep breath and dragging himself up from his chair. Sometimes he could hardly believe they were related.

At the doorway, he managed a faint smile. ‘Maybe you’re right, Dad. Give me a while to think about the job. And I’ll call Mum too, let her know I’m back safe and that we’ve had this chat. Meanwhile, I’ve got a cracking headache. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take all my work back home today, to catch up. I’ll get more done there anyway, without any distractions.’

His father looked at him for a moment, before nodding uncertainly. ‘OK. Well, let me know. Good to have you back, Luca.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’

He turned and walked out of the office, the effort of smiling making his face ache. As he entered his own small office, he slammed the door shut and stood in the centre of the room, the anger surging through him. After all these years, how could his own father understand so little about what made Luca tick?

His eyes settled on his desk, the paperwork stacked in two crooked piles. With a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent them flying against the long bank of windows, papers fluttering down like leaves. They settled across the thick carpet, a mass of densely printed forms and Post-it notes, edges stirring in the steady draught from the air conditioning.

This is not the way it’s going to be, Luca said to himself, his eyes screwed tight as if in prayer.

This is not it.

Chapter 10

The Director General of the Public Security Bureau in Beijing slammed his hand down on his desk, making his aide jump.

‘How can this have happened?’ he seethed. ‘I was told our intelligence was a hundred per cent.’

The aide looked down at the carpet nervously, waiting for the storm to pass. He was a short, compact man, with a neat chin and eyebrows that slanted at sharp angles. He stood in silence, hating the fact that he always had to deliver the bad news.

‘If I may, sir, our sources tell us that the brothers were very similar-looking. There might only have been a year or so between them.’

‘That’s no excuse!’ the Director General shouted, slamming his fist down on the desk once again. ‘If word of this gets out, it’ll destabilise the entire damn’ province!’

The aide thought quickly. He knew from experience that when the Director didn’t have someone to punish directly, the blame was more likely to fall on him.

‘Sir, I believe it was Second Lieutenant Chen who was the cause of the mistaken identity. Please instruct me on how you intend to deal with his inexcusable error?’

The Director General breathed out slowly, bringing his right hand up to his heavily lined forehead and smoothing back his grey hair. Despite his age, he still had a thick shock of it that was peppered with dark streaks, and his high-arched nose gave him a hawkish appearance accentuated by his sharp eyes.

Suddenly he stood up and paced over to the window. He poked one long finger through the slats of the closed blinds, looking out at the multitude of people thronging the streets far below.

The aide waited in silence as the seconds passed, watching the tension set his superior’s hunched shoulders together. Eventually the Director swung around again, his face rigid with determination.

‘Call Captain Zhu Yanlei.’

‘Sir?’ The aide looked startled.

‘You heard me. Call Zhu. I want him standing here in three minutes.’

The aide walked quickly over to the phone and dialled the three-digit internal number. He knew it by heart – Zhu was someone with whom he had had protracted dealings in the past. In fact, if there was anyone in this office he feared more than the Director, it was Captain Zhu.

Two years ago he had been told to reassign Zhu from the field to an office job, based a few floors below where they were now standing. Despite his always having achieved results, it appeared that even by the PSB’s standards, Zhu’s methods were too much to stomach. The aide still remembered the case files he had studied with photos of the state of some of Zhu’s ‘interviewees’. The images had haunted him for over a week, giving him a nervous cramp in his bowels, and that was just after a few HR discussions with the man.

After he had made the call, they both sat in silence as the second hand ticked around on the wall clock. Sweat had started to flow freely from the aide’s armpits and down the sides of his body when there was a soft knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ said the Director General, pulling himself to his feet again.