Free Dragon's Eye by Andy Oakes Page B

There was a pause before she spoke. That instant before a leap into space is made, is risked.
    “Hi Edward, it’s Barbara. How are you, Mr Ambassador?”

Chapter 6
    A Hong-Qi, a Red Flag, is a car … but not just a ‘car’, you can’t describe a dream of stretched black and chrome as just a car. In a country where the purchase of a bicycle can eat up two and a half years of savings and the flash of the silver from its forks or shopping basket exude status, germinate envy; the Red Flag is a hand-tooled wonder. A jewel in the crown of the elite; a social marker. A marker to be pointed at, one of the few that says. …
    Yes, we have abolished class in China – but not rank, never rank.
    The Red Flag is the transport of those drenched in rank. The high cadre … Generals, members of the Communist Party Central Committee, Bureau Chiefs, Governors of the Provinces, Cabinet Ministers, their wives and inner circle of hangers-on. Remember the proverb, old and Chinese, the ownership of a Red Flag breathing life into. …
    If a man becomes an official, even his chickens and dogs will ascend to heaven.
    *
    Piao had never ridden in a Red Flag before. He was not a high ranking cadre or an official. Neither was he chicken or dog material. He could not have clucked or barked for some official even if his life had depended upon it.
    Polished rosewood, heavily stitched creaking antique leather, contoured jump-seats, a fine lace antimacassar draped over the back of the rear seat, heavy brown curtains drawn across the rear windows. As a child, as every child, he had dreamt of being cocooned inside the moody, expansive coffin interior of a Red Flag. Less enthralled with the idea as he got older, seeing the blunt nosed missile of the Mercedes – Cadillac mix blood for what it truly was; a mongrel that could call its own tune, carving its unique path through the city. Cars, bicycles, blocking its path, being shunted aside, out of its way. Red lights ignored, flaunted. The Red Flag excluded by special right, from the need to have to brake suddenly … in case the high ranking cadre in the back seat should be jolted or injured; even at the cost of maiming or possibly killing a pedestrian.
    As an adult, Piao’s tempestuous love affair with the Red Flag was over. Now, without even needing to concentrate, he could still see the star white face of his wife, the rear curtain slowly falling across it as the Red Flag pulled her further and further away. The traffic melting, dividing to let it speed ahead … robbing him of her. Her final glance back as an arm encircled her shoulder. A heavily gold-ringed hand bloomed with lines, teasing her face away from his gaze. … eyes looking forward now, towards Beijing and the cold bed of an old man. Without even needing to concentrate, Piao could still feel the rain licking at his face; could still taste the tears, salty and tainted by diesel exhaust.
    The Senior Investigator drew back the curtains as they slid onto Huaihai Lu, brushing aside a red light and waved on by a policeman. The sun falling through the glass in a slow motion arc of amber, catching him full on the side of his face, its breath as warm as a satisfied lover. The ride was perfect. Silent, smooth … perfect. Perhaps he could learn to cluck or bark, he thought, teasing himself. Absentmindedly his hand ran over the leather of the seat … its softness, its smoothness. He remembered her thighs; the milk valley of the inside of her legs.
    “It’s your first time in a Red Flag, isn’t it, Senior Investigator?”
    Piao needed a chirpy, talkative driver, as much as he needed a toothache.
    “Yes. How did you know?”
    “Ah well, there you have it … you see I am a sort of Senior Investigator in my own right. Don’t let this stupid chauffeur’s uniform fool you. It’s the person inside, I always say. The person inside. See, the first thing that anyone ever riding in a Red Flag does, is to draw back the