The Interior Page 37

  “One last question, Pathologist Fong. Has the team found a satchel or any papers?”

  “Passports and the like. It’s a very clean room except for this.”

  With that, Hulan pulled on David’s sleeve. Without good-byes they left the room, picked up a pale Henry Knight in the hall, rode the elevator down, and walked back into the brutal heat without one person stopping them or making a single comment.

  “Did the same person kill all of these people?” David asked when they got back in the car.

  “I think the better question is, are we supposed to think so?” Hulan replied. “Are we supposed to take that scene at face value—a mistake of sexual deviance? Or are we intended to recognize it as a cleverly staged murder?”

  The car pulled onto the toll road. The traffic cleared immediately, and Lo was able to drive at a steady, though still restrained, pace.

  “I assumed murder,” David said, “because it was so obvious, so dramatic. He wanted to flaunt what he was able to do.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Henry exploded. “What’s wrong with you people? What we saw in there…God, it was horrific!”

  “Is it the same person?” David repeated, totally ignoring Henry’s outburst.

  “If you look at the modus operandi, it could be. Suffocation has been the key. Miaoshan—hung from a rope. Pearl and Guy—also hung by a rope.”

  “But Keith and Xiao Yang were different,” David said.

  “Yes, theirs were more physical deaths—hitting someone with a car, throwing someone from a roof. To me, those murders imply a person with a desire for a physical act, while the suffocation and ropes suggest a tighter mind, someone who wants to be hands-on during the project, someone who wants to feel and watch the breath stop. So to my mind, this could be one person who’s acquired a taste for murder and is embellishing the methods by which he kills, or it could be two or more people. We just don’t know yet.”

  The car slowed as it got off the toll road. The airport wasn’t set up for private planes. There was no VIP lounge or even a private airfield. Instead, those few people who flew into China on private or government jets used a side entrance—the same one used by maintenance—to reach the tarmac. Up ahead they could see the guardhouse that protected that entrance and the two People’s Liberation Army soldiers in their summer greens with machine guns draped over their shoulders flanking it. Lo asked, “What do you want me to say?”

  Hulan looked over at Henry. “You know what to do,” she said.

  Henry shrank into his seat.

  “You want to help Sun?” David asked. “The only way we’re going to do that is if we get on your plane.”

  Henry nodded, resigned. It was one thing to talk bravely about saving an old friend, David thought sympathetically. It was another to risk arrest in China.

  The car moved forward. When they reached the gate, Henry pushed a button and his window glided down. The guard approached, surly and stiff, but before he could speak, Henry snapped his fingers and said loudly, “Come over here, boy.”

  The guard glanced over the roof of the car at his companion. What impertinence was this? his look seemed to say.

  “Don’t dawdle!” Henry blasted. He hit the side of the car with his fist. “Come here!” The guard swaggered over. Henry pointed right at the guard’s chest, an insult of the highest order. “You! See that plane over there?” Henry dragged his finger away from the guard to the direction of his plane. “That’s my baby. Let me pass!”

  The guard bent down to see who else was in the car. Henry pressed a button and the tinted window rolled up. The guard banged on the window and started yelling. Lo kept his eyes forward. David and Hulan pretended they didn’t hear a thing. After a moment Henry cracked the window an inch or so.

  “Get out of the car,” the guard said in Mandarin. To emphasize his point, he tapped the muzzle of his machine gun on the glass.

  “No speakee Chinese!” Henry yapped. David groaned. “Now look, buddy,” Henry went on. Somewhere along the way he seemed to have added a broad Southern accent. “I’m a personal friend of President Jiang Zemin. Jiang Zemin! Get it?” Henry snapped his fingers in the guard’s face, each time rapping out, “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!”

  The guard, flummoxed by this spectacle, motioned to the other guard. The gate rose, and Lo stepped on the gas.

  Henry sank back into the leather seat. “You wanted bluster. I blustered.”

  “You did a good job,” Hulan said.

  “I acted like a total asshole and thoroughly insulted your countrymen.”

  “It worked,” she replied.

  The car stopped next to the plane. The pilot and copilot stood at the bottom of the stairs, sweating in the sun. “We’re ready to go, sir,” the pilot said.

  “Just get us out of here as soon as you can,” Henry said, and with that they boarded the plane.

  22

  AS THE PILOT STARTED THE ENGINES, HENRY QUICKLY checked to see if the fax had come through. It hadn’t. They belted in, the plane taxied out to the runway, and after a short, though agonizing wait, they were given permission to take off. When the plane reached cruising altitude, Henry unbuckled his seat belt and said ironically, “I haven’t had this much excitement since the war. And I want you to know right now, I’m not enjoying it any better.”

  David smiled. It took a special person to deal with this kind of danger with humor. He looked over to see if Hulan had had the same reaction, but she’d fallen asleep. He knew that sleep was a way to escape tough circumstances, but he’d been in life-threatening situations with Hulan before and he’d never seen her shut down like this. He reached over and touched her cheek. It was burning hot.

  “Hulan? Honey? Are you okay?”

  Her eyes blinked open. She straightened in the seat and smoothed her hair. “I must have dozed off.”

  “You’re burning up,” David said.

  Hulan shook her head. “Of course. It’s about forty degrees centigrade and ninety-nine percent humidity.”

  Outside, David thought. In the jet it was a comfortable seventy-two.

  “If I could have a little water,” she continued, “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m probably just dehydrated.”

  Henry got up and pulled a bottle of Evian out of the refrigerator. Hulan unscrewed the top and drank straight from the bottle. She looked over at David and said in a voice that made it clear she wanted no argument, “Really, I’m fine.”

  What could he do but take her word for it? David glanced over at Henry, who only shrugged. His look seemed to say there wasn’t much you could do if a woman wasn’t going to be square with you.

  “Mr. Knight,” Hulan said, “you’re going to a lot of trouble for Sun. Are you ready to tell us why?”

  Henry stared pensively out the window, then, without looking at David or Hulan, he plunged in. “As you know, I was sent to China during World War II. I flew in over the Hump—the Himalayas. You always hoped you’d make it over, but you wore your parachute just in case. Then you’d get to Kunming in Yunnan Province. We had all kinds of names for that place—City of Rats, Black Market Town. First we stayed in these thatched huts. Rats lived up in the straw thatching, and when you woke up you’d see their beady little eyes staring down at you. There were so many rats that the army announced a rat-tail redemption campaign. In three months the locals turned in over a million tails, but that still didn’t put a dent in the number of rats. The army did an investigation and found over a hundred rat farms that had been started just to cash in on the campaign. That’s what Kunming was like.”

  Anne’s fax still hadn’t come through, but David was anxious for Henry to get to the point. “How did Sun get over to Kunming? I thought he was from Shanxi Province.”

  “I never said I met him in Kunming,” Henry responded. For a moment it seemed he wouldn’t continue. Then he sighed and said, “I told you before that I wanted to spend my life in China. What I didn’t say was that I’d had that desire long before I ever got here. As a kid, I wa
s fascinated with the place. I was particularly interested in old religious sites. I know it sounds crazy and maybe it was. You can imagine what my father thought! Things were different back then. I was only the third generation in my family to be in America and only the first to be born here. My father expected me to go into the family business and I did, but that didn’t stop me from studying on my own or finding a Mandarin tutor. When the war broke out, everything changed, especially after the army found out about my interests. It’s surprising what an armchair archeologist knows. I’d spent years studying the early Buddhist cave sculptures of Yungang, Luoyang, and Gansu. But I’d also researched the lesser-known cave sculptures of Tianlong Shan, which lay in the mountains to the south of Taiyuan. I wasn’t the only person interested in those caves. A few years before, the Japanese had sent a team of art historians to Tianlong. They documented everything and published several books which were very popular in Japan.”

  “So in 1937, when the Japanese invaded, they knew exactly what to look for,” Hulan concluded.

  “The Japanese chopped off the heads of the Buddhas and carved out the relief sculptures from the walls. They were systematic and thorough. But as the war progressed, those caves offered something besides art.”

  “Protection,” David said.

  “That’s right. They fortified themselves up there, and it seemed there was no way to rout them out. Even today the caves aren’t that easy to reach, but back then the only way up was by foot across the mountains. It wasn’t that the altitude was so bad—the ‘mountains’ are really just large hills on an already high plateau—but that the terrain was rocky, steep, and unstable. The Japanese looked to be up there for good. The Joint Intelligence Collection Agency thought I was the perfect person to go and take a look-see.”

  Japanese-Occupied China had covered a huge area. The Japanese were able to control strategic garrisons, but vast areas inhabited only by peasants and missionaries were left alone. It was through these areas that intelligence operatives traveled. “I flew into Xian, where we had other intelligence people,” Henry continued. “Bishop Thomas Meeghan had an orphanage there for Chinese boys, who were trained to be totally reliable. A couple of those kids took me east. We rode on—I don’t know what you call it—one of those things you pump up and down on a railroad track? We traveled at night, stopping for food and shelter at American, French, or Norwegian missions.”

  “How did you know where to go?”

  “It was a network,” Henry said. “The missionaries and the peasants didn’t want the Japanese there. They were sympathetic to what we were doing. If a B-29 ran out of fuel flying back from a bombing raid on Japanese-Occupied China and the crew had to bail out, all they had to do was show the Allied patch they wore inside their jackets and they were passed west through the network. We wore those same patches. They were like a passport. Anyway, we kept to the main railway line which divides the country between north and south and eventually runs through Taiyuan.”

  “Which is where you finally met Sun Gan,” David said.

  “Everything we told you before was true,” Henry said. “Sun was just a scrawny kid when I first met him. At first I thought he was about eight years old, but he was thirteen. Half of his life had been during wartime. He hadn’t had much food or nourishment other than what the local mission gave him. But the kid was smart. Street smart, of course. You had to be a good scavenger in those days to survive. But it was more than that. He seemed to understand what we wanted, and then he got it for us.”

  “So what did he do? Save your life?”

  Henry smiled patiently. He was going to tell his story in his own way.

  “Taiyuan—the whole province actually—has a bloody history because of its strategic position as the gateway to the fertile plains to the south. The Japanese understood this, which was why they were there. At that time we didn’t know about the atom bomb. We thought, despite Chiang’s desires, that we were going to have to fight the Japanese back inch by bloody inch. If we were ever going to take back China, Taiyuan would be—as it has always been—vitally important. I was some dopey know-nothing kid with a secret passion that suddenly had value. We had air reconnaissance, but the brass wanted me to sneak up the mountain and see just how fortified the Japanese were. Sun Gan tagged along with us—part scout, part mascot, part translator. But because he was from Shanxi Province, he understood the land in a way none of the rest of us did—not even the other Chinese.”

  They’d gotten halfway up the hill when they were spotted. “The Japanese were above us in the caves and below us too,” Henry recalled. “It was like target practice for them. Any of us moved and bam!” Henry smacked his hand, the sound startling in the small confines of the Gulfstream. “One of those mission kids got his arm shot off. The other kid got a bullet in the gut. His intestines were hanging out, and he was trying to stuff them back in.”

  Henry shook his head as the memories came back.

  “We were all going to die up there. Sun Gan stepped forward—well, it was hardly that. He crawled along the rock face, trying like the rest of us not to get his head blown off. When he disappeared I thought, that’s it. He’s run off and I’m dead. By the time Sun got back, the two mission kids were dead. I hadn’t been able to do much for them. One kid bled to death; the other blew his brains out. He knew what would have happened if he’d been captured. So Sun, this little kid, comes crawling back, takes in the two dead guys, sizes me up, and tells me what we’re going to do. ‘You’re here for a job,’ he said. ‘So am I.’ And he slithers off into the darkness, leaving me alone.”

  Henry snorted. “I’m thinking, not on your fucking life am I following you! But here’s the thing. I couldn’t go up and I couldn’t go down, because the enemy was in both places. And staying there wasn’t much of an alternative either. The Japanese would have found me eventually. I was looking at a quick execution if I was lucky, or a prisoner of war camp if I wasn’t. So I started crawling along behind Sun. This meant creeping along those damn cliffs at the same elevation, circumnavigating that fucking mountain. The whole exercise was dangerous, suicidal. But you know, you can sit still and die, or you can move forward and die.”

  Henry leaned over, resting his forearms on his knees, looking weary. “I’m eighteen fucking years old. I’m thinking, if I’m going to die, I’m going to do it on my own terms. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll see those caves in the process.” His mouth spread in a toothy grin. “Okay, I was young, dumb, and stupid. That’s why they send boys to war. They don’t know any better.”

  After a moment he continued. “Finally we come up over the back of the mountain. There was a moment when I think each of us thought, I could just crawl down this mountain, hole up somewhere, and wait it out. The impulse to live is strong.”

  David and Hulan knew what Henry meant. They’d been there themselves.

  “Maybe because Sun was an orphan, maybe because it was his homeland, he stood firm. We crouched together and he mapped out a plan. He brought me into it, because I knew the caves better than he did. The sun would be up in a couple of hours. If we were going to make our move, it had to be now. Well, you can guess the rest. We made it. Sun saved my life.”

  “You’re not getting off that easily,” David said.

  Henry looked over at Hulan. She too looked at him expectantly.

  “Just as Sun planned, we dropped down over the top of the cliff with ropes and swung right into those caves like we were a couple of Tarzans. The Japanese were surprised, but ready enough. It was a classic hand-to-hand fight. We were outnumbered, but not as badly as I thought. There were only eight men up there. I don’t know how many were down below on the mountain. We were out of there before they could reach us. But still, the men in the caves had gotten sleep. They’d had fires to keep them warm. They’d eaten. They’d been up there for months, while I’d been pumping my way across the interior, climbing that mountain, watching friends die. I think the only reason we lived was because we expected to die. We h
ad nothing to lose, so we beat them back. We had to kill them. I mean, we couldn’t take them captive. What were we going to do, seesaw them back across China to Xian and on to Kunming? And they had to kill us too as a point of honor. We left the bodies where they dropped and met again in the largest cave, where there are two huge Buddhas—each about fifty feet tall. These statues were still in good shape, because the heads were too big to get out of the cave. But all the smaller ones had been vandalized and shipped back to Tokyo. I was looking at what was left in wonder, when this soldier—not dead obviously—pulls out a gun and aims right at me. I was completely oblivious—standing in that cave was a dream come true—when Sun shot him. So see, I would have been dead a couple of times over if it hadn’t been for him.”

  Henry fell silent. The only sound was the drone of the G-3’s engine.

  “Sun’s hiding in those caves,” David guessed.

  “If not in the caves, then somewhere on that mountain,” Henry agreed.

  For a moment everything seemed settled, but Hulan wasn’t satisfied.

  “You’re sure that Sun was mission-educated?” she asked.

  Henry nodded.

  It explained Sun’s near-perfect English, but why hadn’t this been in his dangan, which said that—far from being an orphan—his parents were from the reddest class, the peasant class? How could all this have been kept a secret? How had this not come up during the various purges that had so shaken China over the years?

  “And you say you didn’t have contact with him again until seven years ago?” Hulan continued. “So much has happened in China. How did you find him, and weren’t you surprised at what he’d become?”

  “I didn’t see him again until 1990, but that doesn’t mean I’d lost contact with him,” Henry admitted. “After our escapade I stayed in China for another two years. I did everything I could for the boy. I brought him west to Xian and later to Kunming. I made sure he ate, and he began to grow and fill out normally. He picked up more English, but what can I say, he was around soldiers so his language was pretty much in the gutter. Still, I gave him books. In those days almost everyone in China was illiterate, so I made sure he learned to read and write in his own language too.”