Spy Games (30 page)

“Come,” he said. “Oh, and sorry for this also, but…” and he gestured to the Clown, who came at Mangan quickly as Rocky gripped his arm, reached behind him and took the weapon from his waistband.

Mangan felt panic seeding in his gut.

“I’m sorry,” said Rocky, again. The Clown took the clip from the weapon and worked the slide. He walked across the room and disappeared through a door.

“You need to tell me what is happening, now, Rocky,” Mangan said.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.” He walked to a veneered drinks cabinet, opened it, ran his finger across the bottles, chose Black Label. He poured two shots, dropped ice into the glasses, walked back to the sofa. He took out a packet of cigarettes, dropped them in front of Mangan.

“You like our place?” he said.

“This place? Do I like it? Well, no, not really. Where are we, Rocky? I mean, what fucking country are we in?”

Rocky grinned his over-extended grin, his eyes skittish, febrile.

“This is our safe place. We call it a special economic zone!”
Hilarious!

“Are we in China?”

“Physically, no. We are in a different place. We have many guests. You see them? They come here, they stay awhile. Nice rooms, nice food, girls. There’s a golf course. They get some privacy, do some business. It’s a place where our people can meet and be secure. And we’d like you to stay for a time.”

“I’m not staying a minute longer than I have to.”

“There is something you need to do. For us. And when it is done, then you can go.”

“I suppose I have to ask what.”

“That would be best.”

“Well?”

Rocky sipped his whisky, the left knee jigging, the tremor in the hand.

They’re all here tonight, aren’t they? All the symptoms. It’s crunch time.

“We have,” Rocky said, “certain requirements.”

“And what requirements would those be?”

“Intelligence requirements. And you must help us satisfy them.”

Mangan wondered, again, if he was in the presence of madness.

“And how am I going to do that?”

“You will contact your Service, you will talk to them, reasonably, and they will supply us with what we need. And all this will happen very fast.”

The tongue flicked across the lips.

You leak fear like a weeping faucet.

Mangan swallowed.

“What are you doing, Rocky? Am I a captive here?”

The Clown came back into the room and leaned against the window sill.

“No, Philip, no! We just need you here while this business is finished.” Rocky was breathing hard, the leg going up-down, hands clutching at the sofa’s upholstery.

Mangan stood. Tried to breathe, felt his knees shaky. He picked up the run bag.

“No!” Rocky yelled. He rushed across the room and planted himself in front of Mangan, grabbing a fistful of Mangan’s shirt and shaking it as if to bring the journalist to his senses. And then he was reaching under his jacket and pulling out a black pistol, and some part of Mangan’s brain was recognizing it as a PPK, and Rocky was shouting in Mangan’s face in Mandarin,
Sit, sit, now, Philip, please
, and Mangan smelled his foul breath, its load of alcohol and cigarettes and fear, and the black pistol was being rammed into his forehead and he felt the cold metal against his clammy skin and was teetering backward and falling onto the sofa, where he lay, still, rigid, ribs
flaring with pain, Rocky leaning over him grinding the pistol down into his head.

“You do not leave,” Rocky hissed. Mangan saw the flecks of white spittle at the corners of his mouth. He lay still and didn’t resist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Clown pick up the run bag and leave the room again, and the two cream-suited heavies standing close by.

Silence for a moment.

Then Rocky stood back, leveled the pistol at Mangan’s face. Mangan felt his limbs rising involuntarily, pawing the air as if to stop what was coming. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Rocky was shouting again, gesturing with the weapon, raising it and flicking it downward like a wand, as if he were casting a spell. One of the cream suits was standing over Mangan now, and was rolling him onto his front, and Mangan felt his hands grabbed and forced against his back and a thin plastic cuff slipped over them and a crisp
zip
sound, and then he was rolled onto his back again and he lay there, looking up at Rocky, his hysteria, the sweat pouring off him, the weapon still now, dangling at his side.

“Now,” Rocky said, breathing heavily, “now you listen. I am running out of time. So you
listen
to me.”

Mangan, petrified, said nothing.

Rocky put the pistol down on a table, rubbed his face.

“We are a group of patriots. We are patriotic Chinese soldiers. And we are… we are bringing about changes. Are you listening?”

Mangan gave a tight nod. He needed to piss, he realized.

“Some parts of the Communist Party have become… become diseased. And we are going to cut them out. We will clean the wound.” The words came out hesitantly.

This is it, thought Mangan. Now. This is the unblinding.

“Who’s in charge?” he said.

“A very great man. A general. His name is Chen. He is head of military intelligence now, and he has friends, supporters, all through the army. Really, a wonderful man. A leader! A leader who does not
seek power for its own sake. He sees a future for us, for China. He knows. And right now, as we speak, he is moving. He is moving against those who have insulted us, have insulted and degraded China.”

Script’s deteriorating, thought Mangan.

“You are launching a military coup,” he said.

Rocky’s face creased, and Mangan, for a split second, thought he might cry.

“
No!
This is
not
a coup.”

He closed his eyes for a second. “This is a purge. This is a purge of a few, to warn the many.”

Mangan swallowed, spoke slowly, feeling the tremor in his voice.

“If you launch a coup—no, sorry,
a purge
, in China, Rocky, do you… do you understand what the consequences will be?”

“
Yes!
The consequences will be
good
! We will rectify China. No more corruption. No more disease.” Mangan shifted on the sofa, tried to loosen the cuff, let the words tumble out.

“You… you’ll screw everything up. No one does coups. You’ll be ridiculous. China will look like some unstable basket case. Remember Moscow? Nineteen ninety-one? Whenever it was? The coup? Those frightened old men, sweating under the lights, trying to explain, while the entire world howled with laughter at them. That’ll be you. For fuck’s sake, Rocky.”

Rocky turned and walked to the window.

“You have no idea what he is, what he can do.”

Not the faintest, Rocky. Not a clue.

And then the Clown had taken him by the arm, was hauling him to his feet, walking him across the room, shoving him toward a door, pushing him down a corridor. Mangan glimpsed vast bedrooms, a bathroom suite with a hot tub. At the end of the corridor, a door marked “Fire Exit.” The Clown opened it and pushed him into a concrete stairwell.

“Shangqu
,
”
he said. Go up.

Mangan climbed.

Two floors up, the Clown shoved him out onto a landing. No bedrooms here, no silk upholstery, just gray breeze-blocks, naked light bulbs surrounded by mesh of the sort used on a building site, their drooping cables.

The entire floor had been crudely divided, Mangan realized, into cells.

Patterson, tense as a steel wire, hunched over her laptop in the villa in the darkness, waiting for orders. Only caustic queries from Hopko:

Nothing from Mangan. She had left him five messages on the darknet site, ordering him to check in.

The little red orb on the screen had progressed north following the Mekong, dropping out at times, then rested for a matter of hours at a point exactly on the China-Myanmar border, then disappeared. The battery in his handheld was dead, she assumed. Hoped.

Her alarm had not yet spread to London. But it wouldn’t be long now.

Mac prowled around downstairs, muttering. Cliff was asleep.

The Clown propelled Mangan across the concrete floor, the cells on either side.

“I need a bathroom,” he said.

“What?”

“A bathroom.”

The Clown turned him round and looked at him, his face entirely blank, then clapped one tensile hand on Mangan’s throat, propelled him backward into a wall, ramming Mangan’s head against the breeze-block. Pulled him away from the wall, rammed him into it again, then leaned in, pressing on Mangan’s throat. Mangan could feel the pressure deep in his head, in his eyes, imagined capillaries bursting, leaking.

Then, without a word, the Clown let go, pulled Mangan away from the wall, thrust him into one of the cells, slammed the plywood door, bolted it from the outside.

Mangan stood there, hands cuffed behind him, shaking, head pulsing. He looked around. The cell was empty, the floor filthy with construction debris, dust. High up, a sliver of a window.

After loneliness, fear. And, layered on top, for good measure, searing self-recrimination.

Am I this stupid? Did I see none of this coming? Did Patterson?

The lure. The blind. And here I am.

He leaned his back against the wall and allowed himself to slide to the floor, sat there, tendrils of self-pity creeping upward.
British secret agent unexpectedly acquires self-knowledge. Profoundly unsuited to line of work.

Stop.

He took a breath, struggled to clear his mind.

He made himself stand, shaky, blood sugar low, mouth like leather, bladder distended and painful.

I will not piss myself, he thought.

He walked to the door, kicked it. It vibrated in the frame, but didn’t give.

He sat again on the floor of the cell, then lay on his back, brought his cuffed hands around his feet, so they were in front of him. He reached up, felt the back of his head. The hair was matted. Blood?

He bit at the plastic cuff, gnawed on it. Nothing. Far too hard.

They need me, he thought. Or they think they need me. I am a part of their mission. What leverage is in there?

He lay on his side, pillowed his head on his arms, tried to think.

The bolt on the door was being worked. He jerked upright. The door opened. The Clown walked in, carrying two plastic chairs, Rocky just behind him. Rocky looked exhausted, his face sallow and drawn, the grin long gone. The Clown put the chairs down, went and stood by the door. He had the run bag on his back, Mangan noticed.

“Sit, Philip,” said Rocky.

“I’m not bloody doing anything until you take me to a lavatory,” he managed.

Rocky turned, looked at the Clown, shook his head in disgust. He gestured
Go.

Mangan stood, and the Clown took him roughly by the arms again and walked him past the cells to a squat lavatory, no door. Mangan pissed as the Clown watched. They went back to the cell.

A small piece of territory regained, thought Mangan.

Rocky was smoking a cigarette, gave one to him and lit it.

“So now, Philip, you will help us.” He was speaking Mandarin.

“I am to help you launch your coup.”

Rocky just shook his head.

“Not a coup. Please understand. General Chen will, what do you say, make an
example.
”

“Of who?” said Mangan.

“To start with, a member of the Politburo, and his family. His network. His protégés. His power.”

“Which one?”

Rocky sighed.

“Fan Rong. The Fan family. The corporation that they control, that they run like their… their personal whorehouse. China National Century. Come on, Philip, you know what I am talking about.”

“What sort of example?”

“We will expose them and ruin them. They will be arrested, tried and punished.”

“A trial? Whose court are you planning on using, I wonder?”

Rocky ignored the question. He looked at Mangan.

“When this happens, Philip, foreign governments will think, like you, that it is a coup, some terrible upheaval. They will go pale, get upset. Oh no, China’s unstable, they will scream. And, like you say, everybody gets frightened, and that has consequences for us. Big consequences. Business men will all run away, pull their investments. Cost of borrowing goes up. Consumption drops. People pull their money from the banks. Markets fall. Everything goes to shit.”

He put his hand to his mouth, swallowed.

“We wish to prevent this. So you will warn them, Philip. You will tell them, no. This is not a coup. This is a correction. We have had big corrections before. Remember? Gang of Four? And 1989? But we are always okay. We survive. You will tell them they must understand it, welcome it, even. Nothing to fear.”

He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, his weird earnestness returning.

“That way, the West, Japan, Korea, everyone will understand. China is correcting itself, cutting out the corruption, cleaning the wound, so it can heal. Yes?”

He raised his hands, palms up, trembling.
You see?
“That is the first thing. You will tell your Service that this is nothing to worry about. And your Service will tell everybody, the Americans, the Germans. And everybody will listen, and there will be no panic.”

Mangan said nothing.

Inexplicably, Rocky had broken into English.

“The second thing, Philip, the second thing is more complicated.
But you will help us. The second thing is about evidence. We need evidence.”

“No evidence? You have no evidence? You are looking for evidence
now
?”

Again, Rocky ignored him.

“You know what is a ‘junket,’ Philip? The real meaning? In China?”

Mangan frowned.

“A junket, Philip, is a company. A gambling company. The junket company say to you, you like gambling? Like casinos? Okay, let’s go to Macau. The junket will buy the plane ticket, make the reservation, everything. Lots of casinos in Macau. Much bigger than Vegas, even. You can gamble there till you are broke or dead.”

He raised a warning finger.

“But there’s a problem. For Chinese, you can only take a few thousand dollars out of mainland China. Any more, not allowed. Not enough to gamble in Macau! So, the junket says, no problem. You deposit your money with us, in China, maybe a hundred thousand, maybe a million, ten million. Then you go to Macau and you can draw on your account. Like a bank. You deposit one million in China, we’ll give you one million to gamble with in Macau, less commission. All very legal. So legal you are surprised, yes? That is one way to move money out of China. A good way.

“So, the Fan family. Number one daughter Charlotte Fan. You know? The oil-well woman? I told you about her, yes? She likes Macau, goes all the time. She gambles
a lot
! Plays VIP baccarat.”

Rocky frowned now, looked disapproving.

“That is a very dangerous game. You play against the house. Big stakes. Private room. Only the cameras can see how much you bet. Charlotte Fan, she goes to one casino. Always the same. Drives up in her pink Porsche, tips the valet a hundred dollar. A really disgusting car, believe me. Then she goes to the VIP room for baccarat.”

He was lighting a cigarette.

“And she loses! Always, she loses. We are told this. She loses
maybe two hundred thousand, three hundred thousand sometimes. But she comes out, gets in her whore car and drives away. Next night, still she goes back, plays more, loses. The casino just take her money, like candy from a baby.”

“Now, and you must listen here, Philip. The casino has need of certain services. It needs consulting services. Consulting on what, do you think?”

He had his wide-eyed look on.
What could it be? Mark my innocence.

“The casino needs advising on its information systems, yes. And on security. And on forecasting. And finance, yes, lots of finance consulting. So, the casino hires a consulting company. Several consulting companies, in fact. Pay a lot of money for this confidential consulting. A lot! This is what the General has found out. And the consulting companies, they are based mainly in Hong Kong. And who owns them, do you think?”

He looked expectantly at Mangan.

“Hm?”

Mangan shook his head.

“Well, these consulting companies, they are owned by other companies, shell companies. Not real, just one address, some phony director. These shell companies, well, some are based in Jersey. You know Jersey? Yes, of course. And one is based in the British Virgin Islands. And one is based in Cayman Islands. And one is based… in London! Yes. London!”

He dragged on the cigarette, exhaled.

“Now, we try very hard to find out who owns these shell companies. Really we try. But, you know, your country makes it very hard to find out. We go to Jersey, we try to look up who owns this company. Well, it’s just another company! Maybe in Gibraltar, or in Cook Islands. Or some place. We go to the British Virgin Islands. We send good people. They ask, who own this company? No answer. Nothing. Really, British are very secret. More secret than Chinese.

“But the one in London, we find out something. We find out that
Charlotte Fan is listed as Director. Charlotte Fan. Yes. Charlotte Fan is director of the company which owns the company which owns the company which consults for casino where Charlotte Fan loses all her money. How about that?”

Mangan shook his head. Rocky looked exasperated.

“She is moving money out of China. Millions. Money they steal from China National Century. Or money they get in corrupt deals, like the oil wells. It’s China’s money.
It’s not her money
. You understand this? She washes it in the casino. The casino take a cut. Then gives the money back to Charlotte Fan by hiring her phony consulting companies. The money is all clean now, so clean. All sparkly. So she puts it in these shell companies, a bit here, a bit there. All offshore, no tax. Very secret. And suddenly the Fans are living in a big apartment in London. Very fancy. Servants, everything. And all that money…”

He made a strange effeminate gesture, wiggling his fingertips in the air.

“
Pfff.
It just disappeared. Gone. So many companies, so many secret places. Turks and Caicos. Isle of Man. You never find it. But the Fans know where it is. Only them.”

He thought for a moment.

“Well, one other man, in Hong Kong. We try to talk to him, but he killed himself.”

He put his index finger to his lips, an overwrought parody of thoughtfulness. Spying as performance art, thought Mangan. Agent as artiste of camp.

“Funny thing. All these secret places, well, nearly all—they are British! Yes! They belong to Britain. What are they called?
Crown Dependencies.
Yes.
UK Overseas Territories
. Such glorious names, like full of tradition or something. Very ancient. Imperial flags and uniforms and the Queen, everything. To an ignorant Chinese soldier like me, they sound very important, very… intimidating.” He got up, came and stood over Mangan, smiling, ingratiating.

“Britain…”

He looked up, as if searching for the words.

“Britain is like… what do you say… an
accomplice
.”

He blinked and looked Mangan in the eye.

“So we thought, Philip, you can say to your Service: find out for us, please, where all this money has gone. Just tell us. We need
evidence
. We need to show the Chinese people. We need to show the court. Just tell us. UK Secret Intelligence Service! Of course they can find out fast. Then they tell us. Bank accounts, amounts. Where it is. How much.”

He turned away.

“Then once they tell us, you can go.”

Mangan closed his eyes.

“Sound good?”

Sounds deranged, Rocky. Sounds twenty-four-carat bloody barking.

“So you are holding me hostage,” he said, letting his voice rise. “You little shit.”

Rocky held his hands up in a feeble protest, but the Clown was moving across the cell fast. He walked around behind Mangan’s chair. Rocky’s expression turned sorrowful. And then Mangan’s head exploded in pain, white particles spinning in his eyes, his neck jarred and wracked.

Then a voice in his ear, the Clown’s.

“Let us concentrate on the issue at hand, shall we? Or I will hit you again. And again.”

Rocky was wearing his best distraught expression.

“We just need you to stay for a while. We find out this very important information, where the Fan money is, evidence of all their corruptness, and we can show all China the evidence. Then we shoot them. Then we all go home.”

The Clown dropped the run bag at his feet, felt in his pocket, pulled out a clasp knife. He leaned over Mangan, opened the blade, brought it down just a shade closer to Mangan’s face than it needed to be, cut the cuff off him. Mangan’s hands were swollen, a dark, unhealthy color. He reached into the run bag, pulled out the laptop.

“There’s a wireless connection. Very good, very fast,” said Rocky.

Mangan opened the computer, balancing it on his knees, his eyes streaming, nose running, and booted it up.

Rocky reached inside his jacket, brought out three sheets of paper, which he unfolded and handed to Mangan. On them, a list of corporate titles and addresses.