Private Beijing

Chapter 19

Being in a strange city, particularly one in which you can’t speak the language, is a little like disappearing. You can never be an active, full participant and are relegated to the status of an observer, but even in that role you have limitations because you can’t fully understand what’s happening around you. It’s both liberating and disconcerting.

It’s freeing because you’re not bound by social expectation, so once it became clear to the taxi driver that my conversation was limited to what I could output through Google Translate, he gave up trying to talk to me and the two of us traveled through the city in silence.

Being an alien leaves you with this daunting feeling you don’t quite belong, don’t really understand the world around you, so you could drift or be driven into danger without at first realizing it. I had no idea whether the driver was taking me where I wanted to go, but there was little I could do about it. According to the map on my phone we were heading in vaguely the right direction and that would just have to do.

So I looked out my open window, relishing the feeling of the cool breeze against my face, admiring billboards I couldn’t understand, catching glimpses of Beijing night owls on the street in vehicles we passed, or backlit in their apartment windows.

I needed something familiar, someone who could ground me in a world I knew. I needed Justine. It would be lunchtime in New York. We hadn’t spoken since the call in the cab on the way to the Beijing office this morning so I dialed her number, but it went through to voicemail.

“It’s me. Just checking in. Love you.”

I hung up and caught the driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror. He smiled blankly and I nodded back.

Thirty minutes later we stopped near Dengshikou Station and I paid the driver and jumped out. I walked the short distance to the Private building. The reception area was lit up but deserted, so I used Zhang Daiyu’s key card to gain access through the side door. I took the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor and her key card got me into the office.

There was a cleaning cart in the lobby, which meant there was probably a janitor around, but other than that the place was empty. I typed the phrase “I work here. I’m visiting from America” into Google Translate so I’d have a calming explanation if I met a startled night worker.

I went to Zhang Daiyu’s office and started by searching her desk. I was looking for something, anything, that might point to why she was targeted. Why would they try to kill her and not me? Was she mixed up in the deaths of her three associates and potentially Li’s? Or was there some other reason? I used the photo-translate function in Google to read documents I found, but there was nothing unusual.

Her office was full of exactly the sort of things I’d expect for a senior manager at Private: case reports, personnel files, financial statements, and key performance indicators. I felt something of a heel for investigating a member of staff like this, but I had a nagging feeling I had learnt not to ignore; the sense I was missing a huge piece of the puzzle.

I was about to attempt to access Zhang Daiyu’s computer when I heard a noise outside, followed by a curse. Probably the janitor. Then came a very clear electronic beep and, even though I couldn’t understand the language, what was unmistakably another curse word. I rose from Zhang Daiyu’s desk and crossed the room silently. I eased the door open a crack and felt my heart leap into my throat when I saw a face I recognized.

Standing in the corridor no more than thirty paces from me, dressed in blue overalls, was the gunman who had attacked us on our journey back from Qincheng Prison. He now had a dark bruise on the side of his face where I’d hit him with his motorcycle helmet. He rubbed his close-cut black hair and focused on the object in his hand. He was holding a slab of C-4 and a detonator. I watched in horror as he slid the explosive device under a filing cabinet.