A Death in China - Carl Hiaasen [68]
“In the corner,” Stratton yelled. “Dig! By the window.”
The jailer hung on Stratton’s back, arms clenched around his neck in a fierce choke-hold. Stratton held his breath and rolled over.
Kangmei dug feverishly. Her hands uncovered the crude three-foot spear Stratton had fashioned from the leg of the chair. In another corner, Comrade Zhou groped pathetically for his eyeglasses in the excrement.
In the middle of the small cell, only Thomas Stratton was breathing normally. The jailer, pinned beneath him, was slowly suffocating in the muck. Stratton reeled to his feet and snatched the weapon from Kangmei.
Somehow Zhou had found his precious glasses and now he was at the door, pounding loudly. His black hair was matted, his glasses stained and sodden.
“Comrade, Tongzhi!” he cried.
Stratton’s handmade bayonet tore through the inquisitor’s chest. He collapsed, making noises like a leaky bicycle tire, a death wheeze.
“Thom-as, I am sorry. I am so sorry.” She was sobbing. “He made me do it.”
Stratton put a finger to his lips. For several moments, he listened at the door. “We must hurry,” he whispered. Kangmei dabbed at her eyes. Self-consciously she turned away as Stratton slipped into Zhou’s trousers. When she turned back, Stratton held her by the shoulders and said, “Your uncle is alive.”
“Oh, Thom-as!”
Stratton tested the door of the cell. It was unlocked. The corridor was empty. Kangmei took his hand and together they ran.
Chapter 15
“IDIOTS! MY ORDERS ARE to be followed. When I say that a man must be guarded, I speak for the state and for the Party. I must be obeyed. You listen to stupid rumors like old women, and you behave as donkeys. I am still the deputy minister, and I still command here.”
Wang Bin burst into the attic cell. In a pregnant moment, much was said between the two brothers, but no words were spoken. David Wang looked up at his brother quizzically.
“It is not what it seems,” Wang Bin said finally. “I will explain later … and apologize. Now we must go quickly. Here, put on these; there is a chill.”
The deputy minister handed his brother a well-cut gray Mao suit with a mourner’s band pinned to the sleeve of the jacket, and a pair of vigorously polished black shoes, one-half size too small.
“Please, hurry, David. We must go.”
Befuddled, unspeaking, David Wang dressed and followed his younger brother into the night. Wang Bin walked briskly. He had but thirteen hours left.
“WHAT DO YOU mean you can’t drive?”
“I was never permitted to learn … it was not my job,” Kangmei stammered. “In this country, we have drivers—”
“Get in,” Stratton said.
The truck was a bad imitation of a bad Russian flatbed, but it was the only vehicle in the museum’s parking lot with keys in the ignition. Stratton’s original plan had been to hide under some lumber in the truck and let Kangmei navigate the escape, but now he had no choice. Night was on his side, but not much else. Any half-blind idiot would see that the driver of this truck was not Chinese. Stratton turned the key and urged the transmission into first gear. The clutch yelped like a dog on fire.
“This is terrific,” Stratton muttered as they trundled down the two-lane blacktop.
Kangmei gave him a puzzled stare. Stratton laughed and reached out for her hand. “Never mind,” he said. “Where to?”
“A very safe place,” she answered, “but a long, long way, Thom-as. Eighty kilometers.”
Stratton flicked the headlights on and tried to hunch down as low as he would go in the driver’s seat. Kangmei found a dirty canvas cap under the seat, dusted it off and stuck it on Stratton’s head.
“I’m worried about you,” he said after a few minutes. “If we get stopped, I’m running. You tell them I kidnapped you and stole the truck. Tell them you never saw me before. I want you to promise.”
“No,” Kangmei said quietly. “I will not lie again. My father made me say those things at the struggle session. I am very sorry. He told me you were a spy.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No.” She looked at him pridefully. “It