Review of "Death of a Red Heroine" by Qui Xiaolong

 

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/8145750166

“Death of a Red Heroine" is the first of the Chen Cao detective mysteries

by Qui Xiaolong. I have read two others and have two more on my shelf. 

In some ways this first one I have enjoyed the most so far, probably

because I am already familiar with Cao's circle of colleagues, friends

and family as well as who Chen is destined to become. Many of the

series’ minor characters will be fleshed out more fully in the later

books, so their brief appearances here have more impact than they

would if I had read this one first. But all of his characters sparkle and

stand on their own with insights and clever humor that is uniquely

Chinese. The way his minor characters play off of Chen as he goes

through his investigation carry the story.

 

Perhaps the underlying theme of the Chen Cao detective novels is how

a decent honest detective survives in China where the principle edict

is  “The Party’s interest must always be considered.”  Inspector Chen is

a poet and literary critic as well as a detective. The Party, in the

aftermath of the Tiananmen demonstrations/massacre, needs to find

ways to show a human face, and by allowing Chen to succeed and

become a minor celebrity is one of the ways they do it. 

Qui Xiaolong has a very unique style of writing. He mixes his police procedural narrative with many asides to Chinese literary history and poetry, because after all Chen would rather be editing a high brow literary magazine than solving murders in Shanghai. This poet/cop persona divides his attention and to some extent his dedication to his job as a cop. However, unlike his colleague and older deputy Yu Guangming, Chen is not cynical.  Yu is loyal to Chen, but has not had good luck in advancing in his career at the police bureau. His hard bitten realistic attitude often  brings Chen down from his literary cloud. Along with his hard working and practical wife, Yu lives in a tiny room and has to share a kitchen and bathroom with another family.  It is one of the many ironies that fill the book, because the crime that lands on their desk is about the murder of an attractive young woman, who is famous as a self-sacrificing “model worker” and a “loyal Party Dancer”, a reference from the Cultural Revolution when dancing was outlawed except for ‘stamping their feet to  show their loyalty to Mao Zedong’.  But this young woman had a secret life that entwined her with the corrupt social set of the children of high officials. 

It is 1990, the Year after Tiananmen, and a full decade since the official

end to the Cultural Revolution madness that Mao created to crush his

enemies.  However, the scars of that madness still weigh on every one

to some degree. Chen is swimming a system polluted by the politics of

the Chinese Communist Party, (CCP). His direct bossParty Secretary Li, a smart, unscrupulous Party functionary, warns

Chen “not to go too far” in his investigation of the murder.  The victim,

Guan Hongyin, works in cosmetics, is recent attendant to National

Party Conferences and has been featured in Party media as a virtuous

upright pillar of all that is positive about the Party.  Her national profile

is one of self sacrifice, and moral rectitude.  

Chen himself is being groomed for a high position.  He meets a young vivacious well connected journalist from Beijing who becomes his conduit to the unofficial Party rumor mill and who has a bright future to manage herself. There is a sexual attraction between her and Chen that can not be denied. It is one of the ironies of the novel.  Chen is slowly succumbing to the same forbidden “immorality” as Guan Hongyin, the murder victim.

“Death of a Red Heroine" has a tight criminal investigatory procedural plot with lots of diversions and plenty of local Shanghai color.  The undercurrent of distaste for the Party is apparent in all the dealings with witnesses and ordinary people who touch the investigation. This national distrust of the Party so soon after Tiananmen is one of the hidden forces which affects the investigation, and weighs heavily on Chen. 

For me the scenes of “old Shanghai” are particularly fun to read. Qiu Xiaolong through his descriptions of the Bund’s architecture and the side streets and the markets and alleys and the people who struggled to live in Shanghai before its recent physical  renaissance are delicious reading.  Today of course, Shanghai is perhaps the most modern city in the world, but Chen’s Shanghai is still grimy and teeming with streetwise authenticity. I brought my parents to the City in 1985 and my Dad looking around in amazement said, “It hasn’t changed a bit” since he sailed into the port as a 17 year old merchant seaman in 1937.  We went into the Peace Hotel and the Jazz band in the lounge was still the same men who had been there in the 1930s, when Noel Coward wrote “Private Lives” while living there. A couple of the band members joined us and reminisced with Dad about how alive and wild the bar had been back then.   

To sum up, let me say that the conclusion of the story feels true and is very entertaining as it ratchets up the tension.  But beyond its entertainment value, the novel  should be read by anyone trying to understand how the CCP rules and stays in power. The novel is a combination of a brilliant police story, with a tight story-driven analysis of Party politics along with a tender tale of love found and then lost. It's  a great read. 

 6/11/2020

Professional Book Reviews & Annual Award Contest

Farewell the Dragon by Lee Barckmann - Red City Review

★★★★★

 Farewell the Dragon by Lee Barckmann is an ambitious, emotive novel exploring the troubles of an American ex-pat named Nate Schuett living in Beijing during the 1980’s. After an acquaintance gets a job as a stunt double—for no less than Peter O’Toole, who’s filming in China for The Last Emperor—Nate is tapped to ll his friend’s vacant teaching at a local university. Before long, Nate makes himself at home—and ends up embroiled in a murder-suicide investigation involving two Europeans. 

Through numerous talks with Chinese of officials, Nate tells his story, and attempts to help solve the mystery surrounding these deaths. But Nate, perhaps, isn’t telling the whole story. The more he reveals about himself, the less he’ll come to understand about the city he lives in and the people he calls his friends. 

Barckmann beautifully captures the unique climate of Beijing—and China at large—in the months and years leading up to the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests. Through a careful unpacking of culture, religion, and economic zeitgeist, Barckmann begins to put his finger on the facts that separate East from West, if indeed there are any to be found. But, more than that, Farewell the Dragon is a rigorous examination of personal agency and universal morality. It contains all of the toxic glamor of Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and a moderate dash of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. 

While undeniably dense, Barckmann’s novel is one that has achieved something rare: It has uncovered a unique corner of twentieth century culture and delicately sculpted it into a story worth remembering and reading for years to come. To purchase a copy of Farewell the Dragon, click below.

Buy direct for author's kiosk

Hometown politics (from a substack post)

Why I support the Town Center Plan

Submitted by Lee Barckman

S Lee Barckmann

Nov 17, 2025

Editor’s Note: Wilsonville, Oregon has an approved a Town Center Plan to revitalize and create a true downtown. The plan, approved by its City Council in 2019, had been on hold since the Covid pandemic. The overwhelming majority of residents surveyed have clearly indicated that improving the outdated and blighted Town Center is their top priority, but a small group of detractors has been trying to collect signatures to interfere with our elected council’s ability to use Urban Renewal and make progress on a Town Center Plan.

---

I lived in Eugene in the 1970s, and I remember driving past Wilsonville on the way to various events in Portland. After crossing the Boone Bridge, I remember both sides of Interstate-5 were fairly undeveloped and undistinguished until passing the northern most exit which was dominated by Burns Brothers Truck stop and repair. “We’re almost there”, was the thought of frequent travelers from the south when they saw Burns Brothers. Costco and Target are now located there.

But back then, from reading accounts of long-time Wilsonville residents, perhaps it is fair to say that the “town” was centered at Lowery’s Grocery store, which was on the west side of I-5 on Wilsonville Road. In fact that area is still called “Old Town” from the era when the main drag, Boone’s Ferry Road, led to the Boone’s Ferry.

But slowly development began to center on the other side of I-5. When we (Mary, our then young son Zach and myself) moved from Corvallis to Wilsonville in 1995 we lived in the apartments across from Boeckman Creek Primary and the High School. Our go-to place was Lamb’s Market, which was a high end grocery store with lots of specialty foods and high quality meats and vegetables. (Safeway is located there now). Around that time, Fry’s Electronics opened, which was great for me because I was an IT tech at the time and being able to ride over to buy various computer parts was a great convenience. Other techs I met or overheard talking there came from all over, some of whom had driven from Bend or Grants Pass just to shop at Fry’s. The movie theater opened next door, and we were frequent customers there as well. Without any fanfare or much notice, the center of gravity of the town had moved to the east side of I-5.

Fry’s Electronics in Wilsonville, OR

Other things happened - Mentor Graphics (now Siemens) continued to grow and became the cornerstone of a number of high tech companies such as Fluor, Rockwell and Xerox as well as Oregon Institute of Technology that are all on campuses adjoining it. Other industries, some high tech, were located on the west side of I-5 along 95th. Wilsonville became an important part of the metro area’s “Silicon Forest” .

The city’s population exploded with the addition of the Villebois development which overlooks the city from where the Dammasch State Hospital used to sit. It is a beautiful, well planned development with a mix of housing, and some wonderful public amenities. As I remember, when the development was being proposed, it was not welcomed by all. In fact some of the same arguments that are now being used against the Town Center were used to oppose Villebois.’

But, while a well organized group has consistently opposed planned, well designed development improvements, Wilsonville leaders and the majority of its citizens had the foresight to commit to building the infrastructure that supported not just these industries, and the ‘designed for living’ development to support people who can work there. The tax base this created is what turned Wilsonville from a small farming town into a high end, fast growing reasonably affluent small city. We owe a huge debt to those leaders of that time who foresaw and planned this.

Having an Agora

We have reached the point in the city’s development where we need to come to grips with what we want the town to be. I want it to be welcoming, fun and prosperous. I want it focused on “living well”, which means having an Agora in which we can all be “out there”.

The Greek City States created the Agora as “a central public space that served as an assembly area, marketplace, and social, spiritual, and political center.” In other words the Greeks saw having a physical space to meet and do business or enjoy entertainment as essential to their democracy, as a place to see and be seen by other people with whom they shared the city.

Also, and maybe more importantly, it is a place for young people to gather, meet, flirt, make plans, and have a social location from which to make living as they see it meaningful. We all know how the last decade has led to social isolation in our kids, and how this has negatively affected them. Schools of course are important, but it is not enough.

It’s Saturday morning. The sun’s out. A bored teenager thinks, ‘If I stay around the house they are going to make me do some stupid chore.’ “Hey mom, I’m going to ride my bike down town.”

When I was a kid that scene was a frequent occurrence at my house. If we create the right environment, we maybe can again see our kids embrace life in ways that aren’t defined by adults.

Part of that embrace could occur in a Town Center that is focused as much on increasing opportunities for social engagement as it is for economic development. We should think first about making the Town Center attractive not just for old people but for kids and young adults. You don’t bring businesses in and hope they attract people. You bring people in and that will attract business. Young people need to define their own future. We should create a place for them to do it.

Remember this is a very long term plan. No one on this City council will be in office when it comes to fruition. We are planting trees to shade our children when they grow up. Let’s call it what it is - a bet on the future. A bet on the next generation.

My Recommendations and Potential Addendums to the Plan

1. The northwest quadrant of the Town Center is where we need to start. It is an eyesore with the empty theater and Frys and adjoining parking lots. We need to use that as a starting point and the best way to start is to build the bike bridge across I-5. Additionally, in spite of some shortsighted opposition, every sensible person knows that we have to begin reducing carbon emissions in the atmosphere. A bike bridge (which is also an eBike bridge, something I am seeing more and more senior citizens take up) is a powerful signal that we in Wilsonville are committed to carbon reduction, and that we are embracing the future. The same thinking applies to planting lots of trees in our new Town Center.

2. We should commit to the bike bridge out of the gate, and start construction as soon as possible. This will put our stamp on it and show that we are “all in”. It will be of use immediately. Kids and adults will have a safe and convenient way to get from Villebois to downtown and even over to the High school. We should build the bike bridge first, because we will be showing everyone who travels North South on the West Coast that we have a special town that is not defined by the division the highway creates. It will mark Wilsonville as a unique community and it will trigger the forward thinking businesses and entrepreneurs to see the potential it creates.

3. Next create and fund a Commission to revitalize community theater. Lets buy and upgrade the closed movie theater. The PDX metro area has many theater groups who do works from Shakespeare to Rodgers and Hammerstein. Let’s make Wilsonville the live theater capital of Oregon. Invest in building a stage (or stages) and in ongoing maintenance for a set period of years. Offer the theater to established and semi-established theater companies to perform. Hire one or two professionals to manage and promote it. Let the world know that live theater lives here. It would be the best advertisement possible for the new Town Center and start attracting businesses to take advantage of it.

4. As to the Frys building - unless a developer has a better idea, (such as a quasi-public multi-use building ), I think we should tear it down and develop the area according to
   the plan.

Regarding the Apartments along Wilsonville Road

My understanding is they will be developed with private equity and align with community design requirements. Five stories is fine, I don’t understand the aversion some have to build “up” a little bit. We need to populate the Town Center with built in foot traffic, ie. people who live in the Town Center . We should build it for youth. One way is to require a significant part to be “modular”. Design it so that walls can be added or removed to meet changing tenant requirements. Maybe 6 people might want to live in a “loft” environment, and share the expenses. Likewise perhaps some might want a studio apartment to live alone. Or more standard arrangements.

We should hire an architect to explore whether we can create specifications that will make the living arrangements as flexible as possible. This will - 1.) Somewhat solve the affordability issue. 2.) It will create a unique living environment that attracts young people - people who might work in the “Silicon Forest” a short bike ride away. It will also allow for low income single people just getting started in life, in a place they might meet a future partner. By keeping the buildings themselves “flexible” the apartments can meet a changing demand easily and keep occupancy up.

I’ll finish by quoting from the Town Center Plan found on the City’s website.

“A dynamic, thriving community hub with walkable and engaging public spaces, great parks and destinations, places and spaces that connect people to one another and the environment, and year-around activities. “

Let’s make this happen.

Prologue to The SwiftPad Insurrection, (the Sequel to The SwiftPad Takeover)

AS YOU MIGHT RECALL FROM THE LAST PAGES OF

Digging Up New Business: The SwiftPad Takeover, we left

Chubby in a drainage ditch, in a bittersweet mood, looking

up at the rain. He had thwarted the homicidal kidnapping of GG

in the Portland Rose Garden and then finished lopping off the

serial killer’s pecker after GG had nearly bitten through it.

Sometime after that GG left, taking off for Asia on her own,

chasing Chubby’s best friend since second grade, Jim Hunt. Jim,

who helped both Chubby and GG create the most influential

social media platform in the world, was chasing Macy, who her-

self was looking for the Chinese father of her daughter.

Kipling Rehain, Kip, a.k.a. Cornelius “Chubby” Welles (and

soon to be known simply as “K”), let her go. He stayed on his

father’s compound up in the isolated Oregon Coast Range, west

of Blodgett, east of Toledo, and north of Eddyville. Walt was dying

and Kip devoted himself to the care of his father and came to a

deeper understanding of “the meaning of life” as his dad drifted

away. his earlier struggles with his father and their mutual

misunderstandings suddenly became insignificant. He and his

father shared a sweet sense of regret that they had not done it sooner.

During this time, SwiftPad was sold to Amazon for about $29

Billion.

Heber renegotiated the original $8.7 billion deal that Kip

had carelessly – but luckily – signed on the wrong page. Legally

Heber was out on a limb, but Bezos really wanted SwiftPad, so he

agreed, causing a temporary selloff of Amazon’s stock that week.

It enriched almost everyone involved, too: GG of course; Walt,

Kip’s father who owned most of the stock; as well as Chubby’s

best friend Jim Hunt. All of the original staff were now million-

aires too, on paper at least. The company’s Board of Directors

and the other original investors such as Harriet Miller, founder

of Cascade Sportswear, did well too.

At first, everything went smoothly, and no one looked this

gifted horse in the mouth, but gradually there were lawsuits

from peripheral players as well as from others who claimed that

their shares were not adequately matched to their contributions.

Heber, the Rehain family’s consigliere, negotiated tirelessly and

handled the distribution issues for the most part fairly, and soon

the majority of the squabbling subsided. When Heber sat Kip

down to explain the details of the sale and of the final distri-

butions, Chubby quickly became bored, and just (carefully this

time) signed the papers.

The SwiftPad crew founded and generously funded a string of related non-profit agencies for the homeless. These agencies were so well endowed, the energy so positive, and the management sosavvy that they would have easily ended homelessness and various other kinds of economic misery in the city – if things had not gotten so much worse. But news of the programs only attracted  more and more desperate people to Portland, and because of the dire general situation in the country, the numbers now began to strain the city to the breaking point.

That was all before the new Temp-Prez’s “Thanksgiving Day

Decrees” (TDD).

Although there were many high-profile arrests, particularly

among Silicon Valley execs, it was the mass arrests and persecu-

tion of the Off-the-Grids (OTGs, people who had no social media)

that really shocked the nation. A bill was introduced to make OTGs on par with vagrants, but it died in committee. Still, by order of the Thanksgiving Day decrees, it was essentially illegal not to be connected on at least one of the several designated Social Media outlets. The order was not enforced uniformly, but mostly targeted frequent posters and commenters who suddenly went silent, the assumption being that they must have had something to hide. This led to a huge black market in “burners,” cheap smartphones available anywhere, to project a temporary image of connectedness. Privacy and public Off-the-Gridiness became the universal desire of the era. Virtually impossible to crack “one-time-pad” (OTP) encryption apps were extremely popular.

The new commercially available “privacy techniques” caused

concern for NatSat, but Temp-Prez was too scared to take that

issue on, at least not until the coming election. NSA was too over-

whelmed to keep control.

Back in the Coast Range, about 25 miles as the crow flies

east from Newport, Oregon, the common house that Jim’s

mother Alice was building was near completion. The recycled

dark-green glass walls were mostly sculpted from a fortuitously

unearthed trove of Olympia Brewing’s quart bottles of Rainier

Ale. The mostly subterranean, multipurpose gym/meeting and

dining hall/guest hostel reflected the forest around it like a living

emerald. The sparkle served as a cloak of invisibility that helped

to hide the naturally camouflaged underground split level hob-

bit-like houses that spread out to form mathematically derived,

naturally varying patterns of Mandelbrot’s formulas. You might

have known exactly where the hobbit lairs were located, but they

would still be almost invisible, faded into the foliage around

them, and soon, when the moss completely covered them, indis-

tinguishable from the surrounding flora.

The construction continued throughout Walt’s hospice

care. Slow-moving, pony-sized electric-powered ATVs pulled

soft-sprung wagons carrying dirt, the excavated earth that made

way for subterranean dwellings. Several tunnels were also con-

structed among the structures for foul-weather mobility (and

guerilla defense, if it ever came to that). The wagons hauling the

dirt quivered like a spider on a web, and lightly bounced on very

fat tires. These double-jointed, slinky-like moon-buggies crept

about the forest floor carefully so as not to break up or muddy

the permaculture topsoil.

Jim’s mom, Alice, had once envisioned a community of the

somewhat like-minded, who loved life in all its bizarre permu-

tations, no matter how absurd it sometimes seemed. But more

and more it was mutating into a defensive redoubt, a fortress in

the woods. Fitness for combat slowly became a criterion for com-

mune membership. Walt smiled approvingly. Walt had always

hated the government, but never more than now. “You are finally

learning…” Those were his last words.

Alice held her grief closely because her lifetime of knowing

Walt was not easy to express with any single emotion. When he

finally died, her grief mixed with a great fear of what was coming.

Kip felt that strange, sad, guilty sense of release that sons

sometimes feel when their father dies. After a week of hiking

through the dense, trackless Coast Range, he knew what he had

to do. He had to find GG.

Mopping Up (From the SwiftPad Insurrection Chapter 38)

Buy the SwiftPad Insurgency here!

PEGGY WOKE UP ON A CALIFORNIA KING, ENSCONCED

in silk sheets. The soothing sounds of the Cetacean voices
came on at 5:50 am, and lasted five minutes. The couple who
owned the house had welcomed the Ishpems in weeks ago, and
had moved into a friend’s house over in Raleigh hills, and no one
had disturbed anything in the house, including the music settings
on their sound system.
    Mosley lay sleeping. Peggy opened her eyes, and an involun-
tary mental inventory quickly booted up in her head. Two days
ago (or was it decades ago?) 6 am bike into town, to the gym,
stretching and lifting, then biking across town. Teaching her 8
am psych 101 class at PSU, followed by coffee with a student
she was advising, an hour break reading in her tiny closet of an
office, lunch, seminar with five graduate students, then waiting
around for three hours before her “The Future of Psychology”
night class. Then arriving home to find an old lover,(actually, she
realized sadly, the only old lover) casually talking to her husband.
    She hadn’t seen Nate in 20 years. Dinner, horrible news on TV.
Back on the bike yesterday, across town, and – oh, yeah – she
killed a man, shot him in the head when she panicked. That was
new. But her husband was in jail, not her, and not Nate either,
more riding, up the steep hill to Washington Park, meeting the
woman her husband was seeing on the side – no, she didn’t know
that. Then standing inches away, two cops shot dead. Into the
woods, to a murderous firefight that lasted all night, and now – in
a million-dollar bedroom overlooking the city with a hard, young
soldier. So hard. She stifled a giggle, and looked at the time on
her fone on the teak wood night table next to the bed. It was 6:10
am. About three hours in bed, with some sleeping. And what did
you do yesterday?
    Well – she skipped one thing. About 2 am they had stormed
into Gordy Lobetts’ condo. It had strong doors and locks. Mose
had some C4 and boom, boom, they were in.
Peggy went up on the balcony where she had seen Alison’s
light. She had expected to find her body, but nothing, only the
residue of a hasty exit. A gum wrapper was on the floor. She
opened it up, hoping somehow it might have a message, but it
was blank. She looked through each room, looking under cups,
in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, everywhere. No clue,
no sign of anything other than a bunch of people had been there,
drinking coffee, eating pastry, and a deli plate filled with baby
carrots, empty bottles of scotch, food left out, already beginning
to smell, and they didn’t wipe their feet either.
    Mose told her, carefully, hesitantly, that another team had
broken into the Justice Center and freed almost one hundred
people that (V)ICE had been holding. But no Spence, although
one of the prisoners remembered seeing them take him away.
Mose had seemed surprised at her reaction, but later she would
have no memory of how she felt when she heard the news.
    She didn’t feel bad about where she had ended her day. She
didn’t believe it, but as she searched her brain and listened to
whatever popped up, and it was clear, she really didn’t feel bad.
Yesterday, it must have been because of yesterday, she thought.
She had developed a hardened fatalism about life in the last
12 or so hours. It was the most natural thing in the world to fall
into bed with Mose, after last night. They had wiped out most
of a squad of (V)ICE commandos, and left the prisoners zip-tied
together around a huge Douglas fir. Then were ordered to “hold”
the nearby section command post, and that was what they were
doing. It had nothing to do with Spence. Or Nate either, not in
the slightest. She had never experienced anything like last night.
She wondered, would Nate be proud of her? Why would she even
care? The thought disturbed her. He had left her in an incredibly
dangerous situation, but she had come through.
    “You awake?” Mosley asked.
    “Yeah.” Even with so little sleep she had never felt more awake.
    “We gotta get going. Siena said we had to get down to the
SwiftPad HQ by 9 am and relieve the guard. I would rather do
that than clean up. Bodies, blasted trucks –”
    “And fire, can you smell it?” Peggy sat up, revealing her
breasts. “How old are you, Mosley?”
    Mose laughed. “Twenty-three.”
    She pulled the blanket up, to cover herself. Not much older
than her daughter.
    “You get up first,” she said. She waited for Mose to ask her
that question, but to her immense relief it never came.
    “Have you ever read anything about the Six-Day War – Israel
back in the sixties?” Mosley got up out of bed from a flat sit, no
hands. His naked ass – she couldn’t believe it was so beautiful.
    “No,” she said.
    “Apparently it was an orgy in Israel after the war. At the time
they weren’t sure how it was going to go. The idea that Egyptians
and Syrians might end up occupying Tel Aviv was not out of the
realm of possibility. They were sure it would be a long war at best.
But when it was over, and they had taken the Golan Heights and
Sinai – well – everybody was fucking. It was like a patriotic duty.
Israeli women let it all hang out for a week. That closeness to
death is an incredible aphrodisiac.”
    “What’s your point?”
    “I don’t know. I’ll – get dressed out in the – out there. See if I
can find something quick to eat.”
    They walked down the winding road along the ridge. People
were coming out of the houses and applauding them. They
were soon joined by other Ishpems, as the rebels were becoming
known. They walked with weapons at ready, on the shoulders of
the road, covering their side, trusting the colleagues had the other
side. Where had she learned that? Peggy had read books on war,
and on the psychology of combat. It had fascinated her, and some
instinct for battlefield survival had somehow emerged in her last
night. She stood her ground, even when the man next to her went
down. Didn’t faze her. Where did that come from, she wondered?
    Their orders were confirmed by fone to make haste to the
SwiftPad HQ. They were on Cornell Road. As the crow would fly,
the industrial district was straight through the easternmost sec-
tion of the park, but it was burning. Luckily there was no wind.
It had been a late spring, and while it wasn’t very dry, the under-
growth was dense. She looked up and saw dark clouds moving up
from the south.
    They hiked down and picked up a ride in front of the
Audubon Society Center. Mosley told them where, and they were
taken directly there.
    The industrial district looked like a town hit by a rogue tor-
nado. Some buildings were untouched and some were shot up and
in a couple of cases burned. The SwiftPad HQ was in the former
category. There were two sentries posted on the front corners of
the perimeter, but they looked relaxed. Peggy jumped out of the
truck and went into the former mostly wooden warehouse.
She walked in, her AK slung over her shoulder, and was
greeted by two older men, who looked beat.
    “Where have you been? We had to stay here all night,” one
of them said.
    “Sorry,” said Peggy. She smiled and gave them a flimsy salute,
which caused the two guards to shake their heads in mild dis-
gust. She was followed in by Mose and a couple of others, who
took over debriefing the two guys who had been relieved. She
walked into the main “foyer,” if that was what it was. It didn’t
look anything like what she expected a tech HQ to look like.
The walls were raw, unfinished plywood. There were wires lying
on the floor, held down by gray duct tape. Old couches and big
pillows that looked right out of the 1970s were spread around the
vast space. It smelled a little mildewy. Surrounding and above
were conference rooms, again, cheap furniture and mismatched
chairs. In the back, up on the balcony that overlooked everything,
she saw the top of a man’s head, chin in his hands, listening to
someone whom she couldn’t see. He looked familiar.
    She and Mose climbed up the raw wooden stairs to the bal-
cony and saw a man with a head covered with a two-day stubble,
and a goatee that was morphing into a full beard. He was talking
to a woman about thirty, white, hair bushed out, like it was recently released from imprisonment, sitting in front of him, with her legs askew.
    “Hello, how goes the battle?”
    “Not bad, but not quite over,” said Mose.
    “Aren’t you – Kip Rehain?” Peggy was squinting, not exactly
sure she was right.
    “That is what everybody keeps telling me.”
    “My – uh – friend Nathan Schuette said he was going to go to
your place last night.”
    “Who are you?”
    “Peggy. Margaret Stromborn.”
    “Holy shit. Maggie! We waited for you. Wasn’t there another
woman with you?”
    “Alison, uh, she works with Spence, my husband.” Peggy
realized she had no idea what her last name was. All State in
basketball 10 years ago, she did remember that. “I think she was
kidnapped by the guys now running Reigny Deigh. They might
have been able to fly out.”
    “What is the status of your company, Mr. Rehain?” asked
Moseley.
    “Mr. Rehain? Shit, everybody calls me Chubby. This is Hadley.
She knows more about that than I do.”
    Mosley didn’t see any chub in “Chubby,” but an almost
skinny, clear-eyed guy of about 45 or 50, with stubble on his
scalp, and a goatee gone to seed.
    “Internationally, not bad,” said Hadley, who was filling out
a tight, black body suit in a most attractive fashion. “But we
lost connection to almost all of our US-based data centers last
night. The main link to BC Canada is still up, and that is giving
us pretty good international coverage. Otherwise our network
is ‘blinking’ 12:00 o’clock. But the interesting thing is – China
opened up their firewall to SwiftPad. We gained 180 million new
users in the last four hours. It is all relayed too – we have no data
centers there so it is piggybacking on Korea and Vietnam’s links,”
Hadley reported.
    “Just got a message from our CTO, Arkie,” said Chubby. “He
is working from an ‘undisclosed location.’” Kip didn’t mention it
was the compound down in the Coast Range. “We expect there
will be a reaction from the Feds to all of this, and we need to
co-locate system management down there for redundancy.”
    “The Ishpeming Committee is concerned about – the direction
your company might be taking in the wake of Ms. Oglethorpe’s –
kidnapping,” Mose said.
    “I’ll be in touch with them soon. I am leaving for the Midwest
tonight. If they took Cynthia there, I need to go and find her. I
don’t give a shit about anything else right now. Arkie will run
things on the West Coast for now.”
    “Don’t forget my husband. Or his colleague.”
    “Alison Aykroyd and Spence Stromborn. We are doing every-
thing we can to track them,” said Mose.
    Aykroyd, thought Peggy. Of course.
    “No, I won’t forget,” said Kip. “I plan to make my way up
to Michigan, to see the Committee. I am going to go through
RedHat country, get the scoop on the situation. I think I can pass
as one of them. Any word on security in Ishpeming?”
    “They are fine. Seven thousand new troops are training there.
A Great Lakes Coast Guard squad defected, so no one will sneak
up on them from the water. It’s battle stations all over the country,
especially after last night.”
    “What’s in the backpack, Mr. – uh – Chubby?”
    “Five million dollars in hundreds. Over a hundred pounds of
paper. “
    Mose was the only one who laughed.
    “Want a ride? Want to go see Nate, Peggy?” Kip asked.
    “Can I go?” Peggy looked at Mose.
    “Yeah. You are relieved.” Mose looked at Peggy, and smiled.
She stepped over and planted a kiss on his lips