Free The Ascendant: A Thriller by Drew Chapman Page B

government could not monitor chitchat between villagers, men riding on buses, women at the market, or schoolchildren walking home at the end of lessons. These people were spreading the word, and the word was potent: Hu Mei was the tip of a very sharp sword, and that sword was swinging at the neck of the government.
    She laughed mirthlessly at her own far-fetched metaphor. Swords? Necks? How ridiculous. The Communist Party was massive and vastly powerful. Her minuscule rebellion was a mere irritant, not a potential death blow. And yet, the reaction she felt all around her—the squadrons of police officers searching for her and her followers day and night, the wanted posters with her name on them, the preposterous stories of her numerous lovers and vast wealth—all were signs of a government that feared her. Or at least feared what she represented. And that, along with the weak March sun, warmed her.
    An old woman shuffled into the garden from her home. Hu Mei sighed deeply—this would be Bao. She had not made a mistake. She would be safe, at least for another twelve hours. The old woman’s face was deeply wrinkled, herwhite hair pulled back under a scarf. Her gray eyes were mere slits in the morning sun. She bowed immediately before Mei, as if approaching a dignitary. Mei hated that. Groveling. It was unbecoming in anyone, but especially a wise old woman.
    “ Shīfu ,” the old woman said. Master.
    “Do not call me that,” Mei said quickly. “Please, do not.”
    The old woman straightened herself with barely a nod. Her eyes darted around the garden, and immediately Hu Mei’s anxiety shot back to the surface. What was the old woman looking for?
    “What is it?” Mei asked.
    The old woman hesitated. She clenched her gnarled hands briefly. “I tried to send him away . . .”
    “Send who away?”
    “I said I had never heard of Hu Mei. But he did not believe me.”
    Mei scanned the garden. She tried to see back into the alley behind her, but the wooden fence was too high. “Who did not believe you? Who!” she hissed.
    “The man,” the old woman said. “From the party.” Bao looked back down at the hard-packed dirt. “He has been waiting in my house all morning.”
    Hu Mei’s blood froze. How could this have happened? She had followers in every local township. She had a network of sympathizers and spies. They tracked policemen and bureaucrats everywhere she went, keeping Hu Mei safe, keeping the movement alive, and now this old woman was saying that it had somehow all gone wrong? Here in this tiny out-of-the-way village?
    She took a deep breath and managed to gasp: “Is he alone?” Her chest was tight.
    “I am, comrade.” A potbellied man in a worn suit stepped out of the shack and into the frosty garden. His feet splayed apart like a duck’s, and his large bald forehead was shiny in the weak sun. He pushed importantly past Bao, elbowing the old woman to one side. “I am alone, but I am not alone. A party member is never alone in China. I have policemen—fifty of them—all over this town. So no, I am not exactly alone.”
    Hu Mei spun around, reaching behind her, into the folds of her winter jacket. She had a short shiv of a knife tucked into her belt, just above her hip. Now would be the moment, she thought, to stab this man and run from this place. She could overpower him before he understood what she was doing—just run the knife quickly into his chest, then flee the village. Hu Mei was surethis fat, soft, party flunky would not be quick or strong enough to stop her. He spent all his time behind a desk, eating candy and signing meaningless proclamation papers. She should end his pitiful life, here and now.
    And yet, she didn’t. She hesitated. Perhaps he was not here to arrest her. Perhaps he did not even know who she was. He did not seem ready to grab her, no matter the self-importance that wafted off him like the smell of rotting meat. And if she did stab him, it would be Bao, the old woman,