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Authors: Qiu Xiaolong
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crimson-carpeted corridor to the elevator.
“Don’t stay up too late. We will have a lot to do tomorrow, Inspector Rohn.”
She tucked a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “Good night, Chief Inspector Chen.”
Chapter 6
C
atherine could not fall asleep despite her travel fatigue and the hands of a cloisonné clock on the nightstand indicating the beginning of a new day.
Finally, she threw off the sheet, got up, and walked to the window. The lights of the Bund surged up to greet her.
Shanghai. The Bund. The Huangpu River. The Peace Hotel ... It was a pleasant surprise that the Shanghai Police Bureau had chosen this hotel for her. She was not in the mood, however, to marvel at the scene spread out beneath her. Her mission in China had totally changed.
Originally, it was to have been simple. To accompany Wen to the local offices for a passport, to fill out the visa forms at the American Consulate, and to escort her onto the airplane at her earliest convenience. According to Ed Spencer, her supervisor in Washington, all she was to do was to apply a touch of pressure when needed, to make the U.S. Marshals’ presence felt, so the Chinese would expedite the matter. Ed joked about buying lunch for her in D.C. this weekend. Even allowing for minor delays, it should have taken her four or five days at most. Now she did not know how long she would have to stay in Shanghai.
Was the report of Wen’s sudden disappearance simply a lie? It was possible. The Chinese had not been enthusiastic about Wen joining her husband in the United States. If Jia Xinzhi, the head of the smuggling ring, was convicted, that might make international headlines. The sordid details of this notorious business would not improve the image of the Chinese government abroad. Involvement of local law enforcement officials in the human smuggling trade had been suspected. In such a well-policed country, how could smugglers have succeeded in transporting thousands of people out of the country without the notice of the authorities? According to one report she had read on the plane, hundreds of illegal immigrants had traveled on military trucks from Fuzhou to a seaport for embarkation. To cover up their complicity, the Chinese authorities might be trying to prevent the witness’s wife from leaving the country, so as to forestall the trial. First the inexplicable delay, now Wen’s even more inexplicable disappearance. Was this a last-minute effort of the Chinese to wriggle out of the deal they had made? If this was the case, her mission would be impossible.
She scratched at a vicious mosquito bite on her arm.
Nor did she feel very compatible with Chief Inspector Chen, though his being assigned as her partner suggested that the Chinese were seriously trying to honor their commitment. Not merely because of his rank. There was something else about the man; he seemed sincere. But he could have been chosen to play a deceptive role. In fact, he might not even be a chief inspector. Maybe he was a secret agent with a special assignment: to string her along.
She called Washington. Ed Spencer was not in the office. She left a message, giving him the hotel phone number.
Putting down the phone, Catherine started to read the files Chen had left. There was not much about Feng that was new to her, but the information about Wen was fresh, plentiful, and well-organized.
It took her almost an hour to read it through. In spite of her background, she found several recurring Chinese terms hard to understand. She underlined them, hoping she might dig out definitions in a large dictionary the next day. Then she tried to frame her report to her supervisor.
What was there for her to do in China now?
She could simply wait, as Chief Inspector Chen suggested. Alternatively she might offer to join the investigation. It was an important case for them. Feng’s testimony was needed and, to obtain it, they had to
“Don’t stay up too late. We will have a lot to do tomorrow, Inspector Rohn.”
She tucked a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “Good night, Chief Inspector Chen.”
Chapter 6
C
atherine could not fall asleep despite her travel fatigue and the hands of a cloisonné clock on the nightstand indicating the beginning of a new day.
Finally, she threw off the sheet, got up, and walked to the window. The lights of the Bund surged up to greet her.
Shanghai. The Bund. The Huangpu River. The Peace Hotel ... It was a pleasant surprise that the Shanghai Police Bureau had chosen this hotel for her. She was not in the mood, however, to marvel at the scene spread out beneath her. Her mission in China had totally changed.
Originally, it was to have been simple. To accompany Wen to the local offices for a passport, to fill out the visa forms at the American Consulate, and to escort her onto the airplane at her earliest convenience. According to Ed Spencer, her supervisor in Washington, all she was to do was to apply a touch of pressure when needed, to make the U.S. Marshals’ presence felt, so the Chinese would expedite the matter. Ed joked about buying lunch for her in D.C. this weekend. Even allowing for minor delays, it should have taken her four or five days at most. Now she did not know how long she would have to stay in Shanghai.
Was the report of Wen’s sudden disappearance simply a lie? It was possible. The Chinese had not been enthusiastic about Wen joining her husband in the United States. If Jia Xinzhi, the head of the smuggling ring, was convicted, that might make international headlines. The sordid details of this notorious business would not improve the image of the Chinese government abroad. Involvement of local law enforcement officials in the human smuggling trade had been suspected. In such a well-policed country, how could smugglers have succeeded in transporting thousands of people out of the country without the notice of the authorities? According to one report she had read on the plane, hundreds of illegal immigrants had traveled on military trucks from Fuzhou to a seaport for embarkation. To cover up their complicity, the Chinese authorities might be trying to prevent the witness’s wife from leaving the country, so as to forestall the trial. First the inexplicable delay, now Wen’s even more inexplicable disappearance. Was this a last-minute effort of the Chinese to wriggle out of the deal they had made? If this was the case, her mission would be impossible.
She scratched at a vicious mosquito bite on her arm.
Nor did she feel very compatible with Chief Inspector Chen, though his being assigned as her partner suggested that the Chinese were seriously trying to honor their commitment. Not merely because of his rank. There was something else about the man; he seemed sincere. But he could have been chosen to play a deceptive role. In fact, he might not even be a chief inspector. Maybe he was a secret agent with a special assignment: to string her along.
She called Washington. Ed Spencer was not in the office. She left a message, giving him the hotel phone number.
Putting down the phone, Catherine started to read the files Chen had left. There was not much about Feng that was new to her, but the information about Wen was fresh, plentiful, and well-organized.
It took her almost an hour to read it through. In spite of her background, she found several recurring Chinese terms hard to understand. She underlined them, hoping she might dig out definitions in a large dictionary the next day. Then she tried to frame her report to her supervisor.
What was there for her to do in China now?
She could simply wait, as Chief Inspector Chen suggested. Alternatively she might offer to join the investigation. It was an important case for them. Feng’s testimony was needed and, to obtain it, they had to
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