Linehan's Ordeal, Page 3

other.

  "Well, it's a waveguide-based platform, Mr. Lim, so you wouldn't expect anything else."

  " A major advance on every other type of spatial light modulator. And the designers have learned from the Billy Graham revival fiasco."

  "I should bloody well hope so!" The two men crack up laughing at the memory until Linehan forces himself to look serious.

  "Tomorrow we'll do it with an audience. You've had them all sign a confidentiality agreement, right? Each and every one?"

  Lim nods, still beaming.

  "For safety's sake, we'll run a fire drill before Franz appears. We just need to make sure there are no infiltrators on the big night."

  "That is not a problem in Hong Kong, China."

  Linehan hands the micro- drive to Lim.

  "Guard that with your life."

  "I will. Thank you for trusting me."

  The two men return to the executive suite and toast to the success of Lim's arrangements and Linehan's mission.

  Linehan still feels the after-taste of the Chinese white spirit, made from millet, burning the back of his throat as he rides the MTR back to Causeway Bay. He realizes he has left his jacket and his briefcase at the SplattaDome, but it does not matter: he can collect them tomorrow. Lim has the only really important thing he has brought to Hong Kong, in safe keeping. Meanwhile, Linehan has the keys to Wayne's flat in his trouser pocket, and some money in the back pocket, as well as more at the flat.

  At Causeway Bay, Linehan leaves the station and walks in the direction of Wayne's government condo. His friend has taught him a short cut, and he turns down a narrow alley with the backs of small shops and restaurants on either side. It is poorly lit and the odour of used cooking oil assails his nostrils. Linehan conjures up the light in Hypatia's eyes and her enticing aroma when he had aroused her. He hears a car behind him and moves well out of its way without turning. He is smiling to himself when a sharp pain spreads from the back of his head, a medicinal stench fills his nose and the whole world turns pitch black.

  He is in darkness more complete than he has ever known. His brain hurts. He wonders where he is and realises that he is awake. He opens his eyes but does not see anything. Linehan focuses his senses and understands that he has been blindfolded and gagged. His hands and feet are tied. He is on his back. He reasons that he must have been abducted, and this knowledge calms him, because it is better than not knowing. He relaxes as much as the pain inside his head allows him to, and tries to expand his awareness of his situation.

  First of all, it is only his head that hurts, so he has not been beaten up. The fact that he is still alive tells him that his captors have a use for him. His limited movements have produced no response from anyone else, so they are probably not in the same room as him. He seems to be on a mattress, on the floor. Could be worse. He listens for sounds outside, and hears cicadas and birds but no televisions or radios, so he is probably away from the city. He picks out muffled voices. They do not come nearer or die away, so that could be his captors, or neighbours, in another room. It will have taken more than one person to get him away from the scene of the attack. Whether the voices are those of captors or of neighbours, it is time to make his presence felt.

  Linehan rolls off the mattress and keeps rolling. A wall soon stops him. He bangs his tied feet against the wall and makes what noise the gag will let out of him. It works. The voices rise; he hears a door open and feels his body lifted from the floor and deposited back on the mattress. A voice bellows.

  "Shut up!" A stream of invective follows, in both English and Cantonese.

  A local man.

  A brief silence follows. Linehan is pulled into a sitting position. The blindfold is unwrapped and he sees two masked men staring at him. The masks are the best sign yet. If they don't want him to recognize them, they must imagine a future in which he is free. He turns his head away from them, but he has already noted their height, build and eye colour.

  "You want shut up now? You know what's good for you? You shut up!"

  Linehan nods. He sits in silence.

  "OK. Good boy. You stay shut up, maybe we untie you, let you piss."

  Linehan's bladder is full but not bursting. He looks around for a bucket, but the room is empty except for its occupants and the mattress. The tiny, high-set window is shuttered and barred. A light-bulb burns but he can see no switch.

  The shorter man, the one who has spoken, turns and makes a sign to his companion. The second, less bulky man, is carrying a self-loading revolver. He points it at Linehan and holds it in both hands.

  Mantis, thinks Linehan, naming the man after an insect. While Linehan is transfixed by the gun, the stocky man slowly unties Linehan's legs. Linehan looks down at the top of a bald head.

  Slug, he thinks. Now is the time to start making a connection, to remind them he is human and no threat to them. Linehan does not move his legs. The man removes the gag.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Now get up. We go toilet."

  He pulls Linehan to his feet. Linehan staggers.

  "Excuse me, sir. I think I may need some help walking."

  "Walk!" But the man stays close enough to Linehan to be able to catch him if he falls. They lead Linehan through a large room containing three camp beds and two sofas. Linehan notices the remains of a meal on a central table. It does not look appetizing, but he feels a pang of hunger. Slug pushes him into a small room beyond it. It holds a shower, basin and sit-down toilet. Linehan feels his trousers and underpants being pulled down.

  "Do your business!"

  Linehan obeys. He looks for toilet paper. There is some. With the minimal scope for manoeuvre that his bonds allow him, Linehan uses it. Slug hauls his underpants and trousers back up, then shoves him roughly through the large room and into his cell, under the watchful eyes of Mantis and the revolver. The door slams.

  Linehan lies back on the mattress. He is scared, but he consoles himself with the thought that most kidnap victims live to tell the tale. Who said so? He pictures himself talking to a policeman after his release, giving him all the details he has gathered of his captors and the place where they kept him. He struggles to remember the content of the half-day security course the WFA put him through in Geneva before it started to send him around the world on missions. What he does recall is not welcome: his best chance of escape has gone, because it was the moment of the kidnap. If he hadn't been distracted by thoughts of Hypatia, he might have screamed or struggled, got the attention of bystanders or even the police, jammed the ignition of the getaway car. No, he was already unconscious by then, if indeed there even was a getaway car. He goes back to the post-liberation policeman, turns him into a policewoman, and gives her the features and voice of Hypatia. The throbbing in his head eases, and he relaxes.

  A key turns. The door is thrown open. The gun-bearing Mantis enters, checks Linehan's position, then steps aside for Slug to come in carrying a ceramic bowl from which a plastic spoon protrudes. He sets this down next to the mattress, then he unties Linehan's arms and handcuffs his wrists in front of his body so that he can, with difficulty, wield the spoon to eat the rice gruel that the bowl contains. It is lukewarm and the greasy taste appals him, but Linehan pretends to gulp it hungrily.

  If they're feeding me, they can't be planning to kill me immediately.

  "You're very kind. I needed that."

  Slug picks up the empty bowl and leaves the room, covered by Mantis and his revolver. Mantis exits, closes the door quickly and quietly. Linehan hears the key turn in the lock. Hoping he can digest what he has just eaten, he lies back and falls asleep.

  When he wakes, Linehan wonders what time it is. They have taken his watch. It is eerily quiet outside. No sounds come from the floor above, so it could be empty, or non-existent. Linehan thinks he hears the horn of a large boat, a ferry perhaps. Could they be on one of the outlying islands? He listens intently for seagulls, but hears none. What if they are away from Hong Kong altogether? In China? He remembers Wayne
saying something about Maoists, but he knows that Maoists are even less welcome in today's China than in Hong Kong. He will have to find out from his captors.

  Time passes slowly. To distract himself, Linehan tries to call up the names of all ninety-two of the English League's football grounds. He used to subsidise his beer drinking with this feat, but maybe the blow he took to the head has made it harder, for half a dozen names elude him.

  Hours must have passed, because he feels hungry again. No food arrives. Low voices send unintelligible words in Cantonese through the locked door. Linehan does not bother to rattle it; he wants his captors to believe he is resigned to his captivity. Instead, he starts doing silent sit-ups and press-ups on the floor, as best he can. His body lets him know how out of condition it is, so he switches to stretching exercises. When even those prove tiring, he lies on his side and evokes the sight and scents of Hypatia.

  The door opens. Slug brings in a plastic cup of steaming instant noodles and a large jar of weak green tea. His armed escort has a plastic bucket and a roll of toilet paper in his free hand. They set these down near the mattress. Below his mask, Slug grins.

  "You lucky man. In and out both taken care of."

  "What time is it? What day?"

  "It's later than you think. Maybe last day of your life."

  "Don't say that. Please. And thank you for this." He gestures at the food and the bucket. Silently,