"Bamboo and blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Church James)

4

Wednesday morning, the two men from the special section were back, carrying a piece of paper and accompanied by two other men, from where they wouldn't say.

"What do you mean, he's gone?" The ugly one growled and narrowed his eyes. "I told you, if he left this place, you'd be sorry."

Pak tipped back in his chair. "Did you? I don't remember that. Do you remember that, Inspector?" I was standing in the doorway.

"No. I don't recall."

The others turned to look at me. One of them licked his lips. "You, of all people, O. It figures, our paths would cross again, someday." I didn't recognize the face, but his left hand was missing two fingers. He held it up for me to see.

Pak gave me a look, halfway between "You know him?" and "Let me handle this." I leaned against the wall, a little out of sorts. The man with the left hand had died a long time ago. Fifteen years, maybe more. I remembered the day precisely. I just couldn't recall the year.

"Where is he?" The ugly one turned back to Pak. "And don't say you don't know."

"I don't know." Pak took a nail clipper from his drawer. He clipped the nails on his left hand, and put the parings in a neat little pile on the desk. No one spoke. This is what it is like inside an atomic bomb, I thought to myself. In the millisecond before it blows everything to hell.

Finally, the fourth man laughed. "When we're through with you, you'll be lucky to have anything left to clip." He was taller than the others, older. "But I don't want to get ahead of myself. So, I'll give you another chance. Where is the foreigner?"

Pak swept the parings into a trashcan beside the desk before looking up. "He's gone. I assume he took the flight out of here back to Beijing. From there, your guess is as good as mine."

"You decided, on your own, not to hold him?" The tall man looked around the office. "Since when do shitty little policemen make decisions about national security matters? Beyond your writ, wouldn't you say?"

"He had a valid passport, a valid visa, a valid residency stamp, and an airline ticket that didn't look like it had been forged." Pak counted on his fingers as he listed each piece of evidence. "As far as I know, he went through the immigration line, looked at the officer in the booth, you know, the girl with the lips like roses in bloom, and was passed. No one said boo. You had a lookout for him, did you?"

"We had reason to hold him. You let him slip away. Tell me why."

The man with the left hand hadn't taken his eyes off me. There was no expression in them, but you wouldn't call it a blank look. I felt pinned to the wall, like a bug. Alright, so he didn't die fifteen years ago. Good for him. He nodded for me to step outside.