Walking Banks

Prologue: Liang Wei

Kuerle, 2023

“Do you have any last words?”

Liang Wei lay strapped to the operating table, ignoring the surgeon’s question. His eyes looked past him, scanning the room with a detached curiosity. The walls were a pristine white, the equipment state-of-the-art and gleaming. The room was eerily silent, except for the occasional beep of the machines surrounding him. An array of scalpels was lined up next to him on a tray. To his right he saw a row of identical boxes the size of small travel bags sitting on a long, stainless steel table. On top of each one was a small syringe.

He looked at the two young nurses that darted around the room. He pondered the future they faced in a world increasingly controlled by the very technology he had helped pioneer. With artificial intelligence and surveillance technology advancing at a breakneck pace, he knew their lives would be more closely scrutinized, controlled and manipulated than every generation that has come before. He had tried to guide the development of these new marvels of technology in the right direction. The leather straps holding him down were a somber reminder that he failed.

A third nurse, standing next to the surgeon, was diligently preparing his arm for the impending needle insertion. Her age was difficult to tell behind the mask. As he locked eyes with her, he noticed a small birthmark in the shape of a half-moon above her right temple. A look of anguish was in her eyes. An inexplicable urge welled up within him to offer her consolation, to assure her that all would be well, but before he could open his mouth, she finished the preparation and retreated to a corner of the room where a tall, silent man loomed, his eyes observing the proceedings with a stern gaze. Liang Wei instantly recognized the imposing figure as Zhang Rui, the unwavering officer who had been his warden throughout his last months of imprisonment.

“Mr. Liang. Any last words?”

Wei’s eyes shifted back to the surgeon. He was an unassuming man, somewhat portly with a modest build. Faint lines were etched around his eyes, betraying years of experience. His small hands, held upright, were covered with blue surgical gloves. In his right hand he held a scalpel. Though the man was a stranger to him, he was the key to implementing his last directives. Wei couldn’t help but experience a blend of anxiety and expectancy as he studied the man, acutely aware that his plan was entirely dependent on these tiny hands.

Wei’s mind raced back to his own past. He had been born in the mid-1970s, at a time when China was just beginning to emerge from the shadow of the Cultural Revolution. A child of poor parents, he had grown up in a small apartment in Hefei, surrounded by the sights and sounds of a city and country in transition. Despite the many challenges he had faced, Wei had been a precocious child. Growing up, he had always been fascinated by technology and computers, and he spent every spare moment tinkering with electronic equipment. As he grew older, his ambitions grew with him. After graduating at the top of his class in computer sciences and informatics, he entered the workforce at the end of the last millennia; the advent of a new era where he had been witness to the rapid rise of the Chinese economy, full of endless opportunities for those with the right skills and drive. He had been one of those people, dedicating himself entirely to building his own business empire. With a sharp mind and strong determination, he quickly made a name for himself in China’s booming tech industry. After failing with his first startup, he achieved his breakthrough with his second company PayMo which revolutionized the way people could make transactions with their mobile phones. It was an uphill battle, but Liang Wei’s hard work and headstrong character paid off. His company grew rapidly and expanded across the country. At its peak, they offered payment services to over half a billion people.

The combination of his headstrong character and his company’s prominent role in China’s financial system proved to be his downfall in the end. If he had shown a bit more restraint and voiced his criticism of the People’s Bank of China more diplomatically, things might have developed differently. Yet, he did not regret his actions. Changing his inherent character was beyond his control, even if it contributed to his undoing. Now, with his own life coming to an end, he took comfort in knowing that he played a significant part in his people’s unprecedented rise from a poverty-stricken nation that had been subjected to foreign and internal terror for decades to a prosperous and thriving modern society with a controlling seat at the table of world powers. His unshakable spirit had played a small but important role in facilitating this incredible transformation, and he accepted his fate with a sense of quiet pride. He took solace in knowing that, even in death, his legacy would endure, a testament to a life lived fiercely and without compromise. The realization provided him with an unusual sense of calm.

He drew a measured breath to steady his nerves and looked into the surgeon’s eyes. “I am ready; you know what you have to do.”

The surgeon offered a nearly imperceptible nod, indiscernible to anyone else in the room but him, and signaled the anesthesiologist to begin. Gradually, the fluid coursed through Wei's veins and he departed from this world."

There was a soft knock at the door as he contemplated his next move. The hotel staff must have arrived with his adapter. He was ready to plug in his laptop and start writing up the report of his first day for Laura. Maybe by typing it out, answers to the questions that bothered him would somehow reveal themselves. He opened the door.

“What the –?”

Before Jack’s brain had fully processed the situation, he instinctively reacted to a fist thrown at his jaw. Raising his left arm, he successfully blocked the first strike. He caught a second punch with his right arm, deflecting the raw force. The blows sent shock waves up his arms, his muscles crying out. He retaliated with a swift uppercut that connected with the attacker’s jaw. The man staggered back, a momentary confusion clouding his eyes.

Then, a second man plowed into him. He was a wall, pushing Jack back, the momentum throwing him into the room, crashing against the coffee table. Jack recovered quickly, caught his balance, and connected with a knee to the man’s liver. With the attacker bending over and catching his breath, Jack spun around to face the first man again.

The man threw himself at Jack with a wild fury of attacks. Jack countered the whirl of kicks and elbow strikes as best as possible but began to tire out. A right hook, swift and brutal, crashed into Jack’s ribs. He doubled over, a flash of white-hot pain igniting across his side, and dropped to the floor. His vision swam. Instinctively, he managed to land a forceful kick against the man’s right knee. With a grunt, the assailant’s leg gave way under him.

As the man went down, Jack attempted a dash for the still-open door. But before he could reach it, the second attacker jumped at him from behind and clenched Jack in a bear hug that caused both to fall forward. The plush carpet of the hotel room did little to cushion the fall as the man landed on Jack’s back with his whole weight, pushing the air out of his lungs. Jack gasped. Before he could right himself, the other man landed on his legs. Together, they wrestled Jack down and zip-tied his legs. Still dizzy from the impact, Jack was hoisted up and bound tightly to the chair that had stood by the room’s desk.

Jack struggled against the plastic, its unforgiving bite cutting into his flesh. His heart hammered in his chest, his rib cage awash with pain. The hotel room was a chaos of scattered furniture and broken glass, the aftermath of their intense brawl. Jack looked at his captors. Huang Guoqiang’s bodyguards stood before him, panting and bruised but victorious.

In the open doorway, a new figure appeared, silhouetted against the hallway lights. Huang surveyed the room. He curled the corners of his mouth as he took in the disarray. Strolling casually, he entered the room, slowly closed the door behind him, and navigated the minefield that was Jack’s hotel room.

“Mr. Decker,” he began, his voice a tranquil contrast to the room’s disheveled state.