Dead Heat (24 page)

She felt her jaw drop. “But why were you to be executed?”

“For freedom,” he said on a sigh. “Freedom of speech, freedom to practice what religion we choose, freedom from propaganda.”

Julie suddenly spoke up. “Freedom?” she said tartly. “You call where we are now freedom?”

Paul winked at Georgia before groaning theatrically at his wife. “Just because we currently live in a garden shed with our
daughter and your mother is no reason to start complaining.”

“We used to have this great big apartment,” said Julie. “With sofas and rugs and computers and every kitchen appliance you
could imagine.” She looked wistful. “We had a DVD player, two cars, and a swimming pool.”

Georgia asked Paul the question with raised eyebrows.

“Julie and I were wanted by the PSB. The Public Security Bureau.” He paused, adding, “Because we’re Falun Gong.”

At her frown, he said, “Falun Gong is a kind of Buddhism, Taoism, and
qigong
-style deep breathing exercises. It promotes good living in a spiritual way. I used to advise my patients to take it up. When
it got banned, I continued to prescribe it. Which got me into a whole lot of trouble.”

“Why is it banned?”

Paul glanced over her shoulder, and she turned to see the guard pulling a packet of Winstons from his breast pocket and lighting
up.

“When communism died as a belief system . . . I guess it comes down to the population needing to believe in something, and
since nature hates a void, people started to turn to religion. Christianity, Falun Gong. Whatever turned them on.”

He ran a hand over his head.

“The government has always quashed any large organizations, terrified they’ll lose power to them, and when they saw how fast
Falun Gong was growing, how popular it was, they started running scared. They banned it, and immediately started sending Falun
Gong members to labor camps, or executing them.”

Christ, she thought. Execution for calisthenics?

“Over fifty thousand of our members are in labor camps. Some fifteen hundred have died, the government say by suicide or heart
attacks, but most under torture.”

Appalled, she said quietly, “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

He gave her a wan smile. “Sadly, the Chinese government has taken the fact that they’re hosting the Olympics as affirmation
that the West agrees with what they are doing, and have redoubled their efforts.”

Vicki had finished her plait and Fang Dongmei gave her a smacking kiss under her chin, which made the girl squirm and giggle.

Paul had a quick high-speed chat with them, and then Fang Dongmei turned to Julie and rapidly fired a bunch of questions at
her. Suddenly the crone reached over and grabbed Georgia’s forearm, and kept pinching it while she muttered furiously under
her breath.

“Ow!” Georgia snatched her arm back.

“
Duibuqi.
Sorry.” Julie looked embarrassed.

Fang Dongmei was waving her hands at Georgia as she continued her diatribe. Julie turned bright red.

“I don’t mind, honestly,” Georgia said. “What does she want to know?”

“Since you ask,” Paul broke in with a grin, “she’s confounded at the hair on your arms.” He showed her his forearm. “Look,
not a single hair.”

Georgia studied Paul and Julie, then Vicki and her grandmother. He was right. None of them had any hair on their cheeks, hands,
or arms. Not a single one. Compared to them she was hairy as a yak, or a yeti. No wonder the old hag was fascinated.

Paul started laughing as Julie’s mother continued her arm-waving and finger-stabbing at Georgia.

He said, “Fang Dongmei says that’s why you’re not married. You’re too hairy.” He was cracking up, tears of laughter forming.
“She wants to know why you don’t shave.”

“You tell her. She’s your mother-in-law.”

G
eorgia spent the remainder of her visit chatting about general things. If she was going to help this family, she felt she
ought to learn something about them. Like the fact that Julie was a doctor too, specializing in shiatsu and acupuncture, and
that Vicki hadn’t been to school since she’d been in the detention camp but they’d been giving her lessons and she could,
if she wanted, speak English reasonably well. All Georgia gleaned about Fang Dongmei, however, was that she hated cereal and
toast, thought marmalade the most execrable thing she’d ever tasted, and would give her right arm for a decent fish porridge
breakfast.

Georgia wondered how the old hag would cope with Price’s Supermarket. Probably extremely well, she decided, watching the way
she was smacking and twisting her rubbery lips together. She looked as though she’d survive anything.

Eventually, she pushed her chair back and said her good-byes. When Julie kissed her cheek, Fang Dongmei looked astounded and
pulled Vicki aside in case the girl might try to copy her mother. Georgia raised a hand in salute to Vicki, who saluted solemnly
back, and smiled at Fang Dongmei, who pretended not to see, then let Paul walk her to the door.

The guard glanced up. “Been a bloody long time—”

“One minute, please,” said Paul.

“No way, I’m bored to fucking tears here—”

“One minute,” Georgia snapped.

The guard groaned and reached for another magazine.

Paul turned to her. He spoke fast. “You know how I got these scars? I got them in a
laogai.
Gulag.”

“Gulag?” The word made her think of Stalinist Russia.

“Few people know of them. The Chinese government keeps
laogai
well hidden, but one day, the
laogaidui
system will be in the history books, alongside Dachau and Treblinka. They’re labor reform camps. Same things as a gulag.
Prisoners work in terrible conditions, making shoes, clothes, machines . . . mostly for export, like T-shirts.”

He took a breath.

“I was sent to a chemical factory. At a reform camp they don’t care about safety provisions for prisoners. The acid baths
have no splash guards and we were always getting burned. I was forced to scoop out old acid with my hands. I didn’t do it
fast enough. Two men rubbed my face in it. They were laughing.”

“Why were you sent to prison?” Her voice was very faint.

“For being Falun Gong,” he said patiently. “I only got out of
laogai
because I signed a bunch of papers that said I would turn my back on Falun Gong. But I couldn’t not help my patients. They
love it. It helps them with their family, their relationships, their stress, and everything in between. So I’m on the PSB’s
death list. Because I’ve broken their rules.”

Her brain was trying to catch up with all this horror when he said, “I’m going back to China next week.”

“What?”

“It’s the only way to stop the whole family being deported at the end of the month. Our application to stay has been rejected.
The Chinese government doesn’t often take back refugees, so the Australian authorities are leaping at the chance to get rid
of us. Also, they’ve been assured Falon Gong followers aren’t being persecuted, so the Aussies reckon our lives aren’t threatened.
They see no need for us to stay.”

“But I thought you said if you go back . . . ?”

“I will be executed.”

A clutch of panic in her belly. “You won’t really, will you?”

He looked away. “I’d like to be proven wrong, then we can all return home, but if I die, then Julie and Vicki have a really
strong case to stay. Fang Dongmei too.”

She couldn’t think of a word to say. Just gazed at him and his terrible scars.

“If I don’t return to Australia, then at least I will know my family is safe here.” He gave her a quick smile. “With you looking
out for them.”

Later that afternoon, Georgia was sitting on a sun-lounger on Kee Beach in the shade of the sturdy African oil palm, using
Daniel’s mobile to phone the immigration department. The Coral Sea spread to the horizon, sprinkling shards of sunlight into
her eyes and making her squint. Soft clamshells were scattered across the beach, grayish white and translucent, and just beyond
her lounger was a handsome, rounded seashell that appeared to have thin raw salmon glistening around its cone.

The shell was ridged but smooth and inviting to the touch, but she didn’t pick it up, just in case. The last thing she needed
was both hands bandaged.

The mobile was playing Tchaikovsky while she held. She’d already rung the wrong office, then got put through to the wrong
department, and she’d been listening to
Swan Lake
for over ten minutes and wondered if she hung up and tried again whether she’d have to suffer the same process. Probably.
Briefly she wondered how Tabitha’s birthday party was going, and whether the clown had turned up on time.

Eight minutes later, a voice said, “’elp you?”

Georgia introduced herself, then said, “I’m ringing on behalf of some friends of mine, Julie and Paul Zhong. They applied
for refugee status—”

“You’ve got the wrong section. I’ll just transfer—”

“No! Wait!”

She was too late.

Another five minutes, then a woman’s voice, “Hello?”

Georgia repeated what she’d said before.

“I’m sorry, we can’t discuss individual cases over the phone.”

“Oh. Okay, so let’s make an appointment. How about tomorrow?”

“Oh no. We don’t make appointments. We don’t have meetings with relatives or friends of applicants.”

“So how do I prevent my friends being returned to China to be executed?”

“You have to apply in writing—”

“But he’s going to China next week! He’ll probably be dead by the time you’ve opened my letter!”

“There’s no need to take that tone, Miss Parish.”

“But he’s in terrible danger!”

“You’ll have to exercise some patience. We’re really very busy and don’t have the time to—”

“Can’t you at least tell me how to stop them being deported? Until I can sort out some sort of sponsorship? They can stay
in my house until they find their feet, they won’t need government benefits or anything, I’ll look after them—”

“Oh no, if they’ve had their deportation notice, there’s nothing you can do.”

“There must be
something.
Like contact the prime minister—”

“Oh, we can’t do that.”

Georgia’s tone turned hard. “What
can
you do?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The urge to shout at the woman was so overpowering that Georgia had to hang up. Then she had to have a beer. Then she grabbed
a piece of paper and sketched out a childish cartoon of a man hanging from a noose while an immigration department clerk filed
her nails.

Shit. Perhaps she ought to run an advertising campaign for Paul and Julie.
Something,
for God’s sake. Tracking down the Zhongs’ government representative was proving just as difficult. Three different people
had promised to call her back, but her mobile had shown no missed calls over the past two hours. She had the sinking feeling
that as soon as they’d hung up, they’d each chucked Paul and Julie’s details in the bin and gone out for coffee.

Stamping into the van, she pulled out another beer. Drinking straight from the bottle, she choked when her mobile rang.

“Did you find out where Lee is?”

No hello, Georgia, how are you, how was your day? Which was probably a good thing since she had beer up her nose.

“No, Daniel, I didn’t. Sorry.”

“So what did you find out?”

“That he doesn’t have an address, and he’ll only be found if he wants to be found.”

“Shit. Is that
all
?”

“Well, I learned he smuggled the Zhongs into Australia.”

“Hang on.” Then she heard him say, slightly muffled, “In a minute, sweetheart. Yup. No, Tabby, you can’t play with my penknife,
it’s not a toy . . . Yes, okay, I’ll read you a story in a minute . . . Georgia, sorry about that.”

“How’d the birthday party go?”

“I’m more exhausted than if I’d arrested fifteen violent rugby fans single-handed. Gran’s still clearing up. It’s like a bomb
site.”

“Tabby like the Barbie cake?”

They talked a while longer about the party, then he began pressing her about Paul Zhong, so she told him pretty much everything
she’d learned, but left out all references to Jon and Suzie’s company, Quantum Research, in case he mentioned it to another
cop and they mentioned it to the Chens. She wanted to discover Suzie’s connection to the Chens without them knowing, find
out why Lee wanted to get in touch with Suzie’s brother, and maybe, in the process, discover an alternative route toward finding
her mother.

“Poor bugger,” Daniel said about Paul Zhong returning to China, to face certain execution in order to protect his family.
“But I guess I can understand why he’s doing it.” She heard his sigh down the phone. “I’d do the same for Tabby without thinking
twice.”

Two fathers, two heroes, she thought. One a cop hell-bent on keeping illegal immigrants out of Australia, the other determined
to keep his illegal family in Australia.

“Is there anything you can do to help Paul?” she asked. “I’ve been going mad talking to the immigration department. They can’t
help at all. They don’t
want
to try.” She could hear her own anger and frustration.

“If he’s been given his deportation notice, no. But I’ll give it a go. I can’t promise anything, though.”

“Thanks.”

After they’d hung up, she dialed directory inquiries, got the number of Quantum Research in Brisbane, and the next minute
she was talking to Suzie’s brother, Jon Ming. Amazed that it had been so easy to find him, she wondered why the lab was publicly
listed. Was it a legitimate business after all? She was glad she didn’t have to break the news that his sister had died. Apparently
a friend had told him, but he didn’t say who. After condoling with him, she asked if she could fly down to see him.

“Is it really necessary?” He sounded extremely reluctant. “I’m grateful you were there for Suzie, but I’m terribly busy.”

“Suzie gave me a disk to give to you. She told me to hand it to nobody else, and not to trust the mail.” Which was stretching
the truth, but since she needed some leverage . . .