The Ghost Shift (30 page)

Ma looked insulted. “I’m not greedy. People want to bribe or threaten me, but that won’t work. I’m kind to my friends. I put the ones I liked on the ghost shift, if they asked me.”

“Did they want to go?”

“They used to. The shifts are shorter, and they have four beds to a dormitory room. It was the best assignment, but it was hard to get in. Only people with good ratings, who didn’t gossip.”

“You said they used to. Did it change?”

“When the deaths started, so did the rumors. People got scared. They said that people who went on the ghost shift disappeared.”

“Did they?”

Ma nodded, avoiding Feng’s stare. “When they were assigned, we had to take them off the database, as if they’d left. There aren’t any records, but I still remember them. All of them.” He looked at Lockhart, appealing to him. “It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have known.”

“Was Wu Ning one of them?” Lockhart asked.

Ma hung his head again. “I miss Ning almost as much as Liu. Liu was the best. We used to hang out together. She was sweet.”

The mention of his daughter jolted Lockhart. He felt sorry for Ma. He didn’t have friends, only people who had wanted a favor that wasn’t really a favor at all—to be put on the ghost shift. He thought of Lizzie, tracking the man down and getting her way, as she’d always done with him.

“Tang Liu wanted to be on the ghost shift?”

“I warned her, but she insisted.”

Lizzie hadn’t told Lockhart that—she’d kept it from him. She hadn’t wanted him to stop her, he knew, so she hadn’t confessed everything. She had inherited his belief in not telling the desk officer too much. He looked at Mei, standing silently by Feng, and wondered if she had the same trait.

“You can go now,” Feng said. “Thank you for your cooperation. We will not harm you—if you do one thing.”

Mei moved two
days later. The women in the bunks above, who had hardly talked to her, were on overtime when she left the dormitory. Jun was in the recreation room, playing ping-pong with a boy who’d caught her eye, and Mei didn’t interrupt. She took her bag and walked.

A guard stood under an umbrella, waiting. It was raining so hard that drops bounced off the canvas roof of an electric cart he’d parked by the dormitory. Lightning lit his face, and thunder boomed over the Long Tan complex, rolling across the delta. The storm had washed the other people from the streets—she and the guard were alone as they rolled along the main avenue, swerving around ponds of rainwater.
They passed the plant where she worked, driving into the deeper reaches of the compound. After a few hundred yards, the streetlights ran out and she began to feel as if she’d been kidnapped. The only illumination came from shards of lightning as the storm moved west. She waited for the next bolt, staring to see what it might reveal, but all she could see were the rods of rain in the headlights.

There was a glow ahead. As they got closer, she made out a strand of light across her field of vision. It was a fence, leading to a sentry post. They had come so far that, looking back, she could hardly see the buildings in the rest of the compound. It felt as if they’d passed into a foreign country.

At the sentry post, she saw a twenty-foot-high fence. It was rooted in a strip of dirt forming a no-man’s-land, with lights every thirty feet. Made of mesh, topped with a line of razor wire, it curved into the distance, creating a compound. A hundred yards away, a guard was patrolling the boundary with a retriever. The dog bounded along, sniffing the line of the fence.

The driver pulled an envelope out of a bag and handed it to the sentry, who shone a flashlight on the sheaf of papers inside, glancing at Mei. He nodded them through, along a driveway leading to the heart of the compound. The rain was easing, and Mei saw a five-story building, long and narrow—a dormitory block.

This was P-2.

Two people stood at the door as they arrived—a woman holding a bundle of clothes and the instructor. She hadn’t seen him since her first day, but he beamed at her like a long-lost friend.

“Jiang Jia! I saw your name on the manifest, and I came to make you feel at home. I’m pleased to see you. Some people have the right attitude from the start—the spirit of Long Tan. I sensed it in you. This is my true home, although I am found in many places. I always seek recruits to the best team. Not many are good enough.”

He wore similar pants as before, with his belt drawn around his belly, this time with a striped tie. It was topped with a red zippered jacket, the same color as the tunic of the woman next to him, who bowed to Mei as she handed her a red stack of tunics and white towels.

“We dress in comfort here, Jiang Jia. Truly, you are lucky. This young lady will take you to where you sleep. Rest well, refresh yourself! There is so much to learn here, so much to enjoy.”

The woman led Mei to an elevator, and they rose to the fourth floor. They walked along a corridor, a soft light beside each closed door. Halfway along, she knocked, then placed a card in a slot and opened the door. It was pitch-dark inside the room for a few seconds, then a bright light switched on and Mei heard laughter and clapping.

“Surprise! Surprise!”

Three young women crowded around her, one holding flowers and another a frosted cake. The third lifted the stack of clothes from Mei and set them down on a bed before hugging her.

“Jiang Jia. Welcome to our home!” she cried.

“Go now. We’ll take care of our new friend. Away!” another said, leading the supervisor out. She was dark-skinned, with crooked teeth and a smile that twisted on one side. Cutting slices from the cake, she offered the largest to Mei and took a small one for herself.

“I have to watch my weight. We eat too well in this place—so many pastries,” she said. “Here, let’s sit on your bed to talk. It’s right by the window. I hope you like it.”

Mei examined the room. Instead of bunks, there were four single beds pushed against the wall, each with a set of shelves above. A door at the end led out to a balcony. It was more like being back in her room in the Party compound than in her old Long Tan dormitory.

“Tell us all about yourself, Jia,” the girl said. “Where do you come from, what are your dreams? Tell us about your family. I miss my family, but I am so happy to be here. I do not want to leave.”

Sitting on the bed opposite, the others giggled.

“Don’t smother her, Ling. Let her relax,” one said.

“You’re right. She must settle in. I know! Take a warm shower! We have one here. It will calm you.”

“Maybe later,” Mei said.

“You must do it now!” Ling cried. “Your clothes are damp from your journey. Take this bathrobe. You’ll feel better.”

Mei didn’t want to, but her new roommates were so insistent and so merry that she had no choice. She undressed and stepped into the
shower. It was as luxurious as they had said. The water pummeled her, filling the cubicle with steam, and she soaped her body. The women stood nearby, asking her how she felt and laughing.

The curtain drew back, and there was Ling, naked. She stepped into the shower before Mei could protest and stood there, her eyes dark and fragile. Ling wrapped her arms around her and put her mouth to Mei’s ear. Beneath the shower’s hissing noise, she whispered.

“They listen to everything.”

It was her best breakfast in weeks, another universe from the fare at Camp Peary. A chef cooked scallion pancakes, and she could choose among six types of tea set out in small pots stamped with the Long Tan logo. Instead of the rice and noodles of her old canteen, there were bowls of warm soymilk, slices of turnip cake, steaming baskets of dumplings.

She ate and drank while her roommates nibbled on pancakes and prawn dumplings, keeping up the cheerful banter of the night. They seemed to have mastered it so completely that they could hide their feelings without effort. They had developed a language, a way of communicating in code and giving warnings while seeming carefree. Mei was learning to speak like that herself—to say one thing and mean the opposite. They sat at a four-person table, not one of the trestles of her old canteen. Light glowed through the hall’s high, frosted windows: There was no outside view, but it felt warm and comfortable. The place was filled with cheerful-sounding hubbub, everyone smiling at the new day.

“This morning,” said Ling, “you’ll see the psychologist, Dr. He. They want to be sure you are happy and have no worries. She is a nice woman. She listens carefully to all your feelings.”

“Oh, yes. You must tell her everything,” said another roommate. Her name was Shu, and she wore thick glasses. Of the three, she seemed the least anxious about being spied on.

“It shows how much they care for us that they have hired a psychologist to know our emotions. She wants the best for you.”

“I understand,” Mei said.

The instructor arrived at their table. “Come along, ladies. I am here to take Jia for her induction. If all goes well, she will be back with you soon.”

The others left, and he led Mei through long corridors to an office, where a woman was waiting for them. She looked little older than Mei and wore a white coat one size too big, the sleeves rolled up to keep them off her wrists. Her office was colorfully decorated, with a large armchair opposite her desk and a vase of flowers.

“You came last night, Jiang Jia? I hope you are settling in. This place is quite different, isn’t it?”

“I like my room,” she said. “My roommates are nice and the bed is comfortable. I slept well.”

Dr. He smiled and pushed her thick-framed glasses up her nose. “Some of our new arrivals are surprised. But we want you to feel at home. You will be here for some time. Are there things you want to ask? Do you have worries?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You haven’t heard bad rumors? I know that some people are scared to be here. I don’t blame them. I look at the guards and the fences. They scare me too, although they are necessary. You asked to be brought here, didn’t you? Why was that?”

“I heard it was nice. They said I would make friends and that it was a good place to work.”

“Yes, we do vital work. There are some things that we cannot explain, which is frustrating, but they have a purpose.” The psychologist examined her papers. “So you come from Heyuan?”

“My parents still live there.”

“I was born in Zijin, but I love the city. We must know many of the same places. I would love to gossip.”

“So would I.” Mei smiled politely. Her hands felt clammy and she squeezed the chair’s fabric. She’d thought her worst risk was to be recognized, not a coincidence like this.

“I’m sorry we can’t do it now. We are so busy at the moment that it must wait a day or two. But I won’t forget. Good luck on your first day, and remember, this is vital work.”

Building P-1 was
much smaller than the hangar where she had worked before. It was divided internally by a high wall running the length of the building. There was only one assembly line in sight and it moved more slowly, with fewer supervisors. She saw two red-uniformed women carrying out the task she’d been responsible for, applying electric tools to Poppy tablets.

The instructor strode toward her, his arms in the air, amused.

“When did you come to Long Tan, Jiang Jia? Only a few days ago. And already you have been promoted. Does this look familiar?”

Mei nodded. “Yes, very familiar.”

“There are fewer people here, only the best. You are already well trained, so we are happy to welcome you. There are only a few things to learn, and then you will fit in here. Let us take a tour.”

He strode along the line, with Mei following. Halfway along, she saw Ling and Shu bent over tablets. They were handling the battery frames for the devices, placing parts in trays. They smiled as she approached, then watched for the next tablets in line to arrive. The line moved far slower than in her old facility, and there were fewer tablets to deal with.

“Will you work with us? You’ll love it here,” Shu said.

“Perhaps she will. But first, I have to show her around,” the instructor said. “She must see everything.”

They reached the start of the line, close to the delivery bays, and looked back. Two guards stood on a walkway above the floor, looking down on both sides of the wall. The operation was small enough to be monitored without binoculars.