amiably. “Lai Feng, I am Zhang Yao, of the Discipline Commission. Deputy Secretary Pan sent us. I believe you know about our mission.”
“Your mission?” Feng raised an eyebrow in a perfect triangle and whistled. “So you’re secret agents.” She stepped past Yao and held a hand out to Mei. “You’re not his girlfriend, I hope.”
“My name is Song Mei. I’m his partner.”
The woman wrinkled her nose. “Well, any sacrifice for the Party.” She shot Yao a glance. “You two have something for me?”
Yao reached into his pocket and put the envelope on the desk’s stitched leather surface.
Feng picked it up and rocked it between her fingers, weighing the contents, then turned her gaze to Yao.
“An envelope, eh? This will test my expertise. Have you tried one of these?” She pulled a letter opener from a drawer.
“I think it’s secret.” Yao sounded like a small boy.
The woman sniffed. “
Top secret?
Okay, so you want me to open it up and seal it again. Well, this is exciting. Is it a letter in invisible ink? Maybe a microdot hidden in a character?”
“Can you do it or not?” Mei interjected. She was tired of Feng messing with Yao’s dignity. He irritated her too, but she had earned the right to give him a hard time. This woman hadn’t.
Feng looked at Mei. “I’m just saying, our work is less analog these days. Physical objects are so last century.”
Mei pointed toward Feng’s tablet, which she’d left by the window, with its Poppy logo on the back. “That’s an object, isn’t it? You think the Chinese economy is stuck in the last century?”
Feng raised an amused eyebrow.
“Okay, you’ve got a point. Anyway, they taught us this stuff. There isn’t much call for it now, like making molds of keys in clay. I need to revise the method a little.”
She walked to a bookshelf, from which she took a leather-bound volume.
“Here are the old potions. Lovely binding. I’d collect these if I didn’t have the set already.”
She rubbed a thumb, with its dark nail, over the leather and flicked through the pages. Then she giggled.
“It’s like Harry Potter. Come on, let’s try it.”
In a basement laboratory, the strip lights flickered to life. The room was white-tiled, with desks spaced throughout bearing flasks filled with chemicals. One wall was covered with shelves behind glass panels. Feng slid a panel aside and took a box from one shelf, then tipped its contents into a thin-necked flask. White crystals flowed out, forming a pile, and Feng poured two slugs of clear liquid into the vessel.
“Magicians measure by instinct. Here, give me that envelope.” She put it on a table, twiddled the flask between finger and thumb,and made a spell-casting gesture with the other hand. “Aparecium!” Then she frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. “It’s supposed to reveal invisible ink. It worked on Tom Riddle’s diary. Oh, fuck this. The Party knows best.”
She brought down a cork and some glass tubing, which she stuck in the top of the flask. Then she lit a burner. After a minute, white fumes rose off the crystals and floated along the pipe. She waited until it streamed and then held the envelope to it. Thirty seconds later, the flap sprung open.
“And the Americans say we can’t innovate,” she said, handing it to Mei. “Have a look inside.”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Supposed to?” said Feng mockingly. “Go on, I won’t look.”
Mei took the envelope to a corner, feeling a flat, hard rectangle inside it. She didn’t want to know what it was. But as she hesitated, Yao moved.
“Let me see.” He put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her body back against his to gain a better view.
Taking the envelope, he pulled out a packet of green-and-purple bills bound in a white band. Each bore a cross and the image of a bald man in a high white collar, and next to it the words “Schweizerische Nationalbank.” They were crisp, unused one thousand Swiss franc
“Your mission?” Feng raised an eyebrow in a perfect triangle and whistled. “So you’re secret agents.” She stepped past Yao and held a hand out to Mei. “You’re not his girlfriend, I hope.”
“My name is Song Mei. I’m his partner.”
The woman wrinkled her nose. “Well, any sacrifice for the Party.” She shot Yao a glance. “You two have something for me?”
Yao reached into his pocket and put the envelope on the desk’s stitched leather surface.
Feng picked it up and rocked it between her fingers, weighing the contents, then turned her gaze to Yao.
“An envelope, eh? This will test my expertise. Have you tried one of these?” She pulled a letter opener from a drawer.
“I think it’s secret.” Yao sounded like a small boy.
The woman sniffed. “
Top secret?
Okay, so you want me to open it up and seal it again. Well, this is exciting. Is it a letter in invisible ink? Maybe a microdot hidden in a character?”
“Can you do it or not?” Mei interjected. She was tired of Feng messing with Yao’s dignity. He irritated her too, but she had earned the right to give him a hard time. This woman hadn’t.
Feng looked at Mei. “I’m just saying, our work is less analog these days. Physical objects are so last century.”
Mei pointed toward Feng’s tablet, which she’d left by the window, with its Poppy logo on the back. “That’s an object, isn’t it? You think the Chinese economy is stuck in the last century?”
Feng raised an amused eyebrow.
“Okay, you’ve got a point. Anyway, they taught us this stuff. There isn’t much call for it now, like making molds of keys in clay. I need to revise the method a little.”
She walked to a bookshelf, from which she took a leather-bound volume.
“Here are the old potions. Lovely binding. I’d collect these if I didn’t have the set already.”
She rubbed a thumb, with its dark nail, over the leather and flicked through the pages. Then she giggled.
“It’s like Harry Potter. Come on, let’s try it.”
In a basement laboratory, the strip lights flickered to life. The room was white-tiled, with desks spaced throughout bearing flasks filled with chemicals. One wall was covered with shelves behind glass panels. Feng slid a panel aside and took a box from one shelf, then tipped its contents into a thin-necked flask. White crystals flowed out, forming a pile, and Feng poured two slugs of clear liquid into the vessel.
“Magicians measure by instinct. Here, give me that envelope.” She put it on a table, twiddled the flask between finger and thumb,and made a spell-casting gesture with the other hand. “Aparecium!” Then she frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. “It’s supposed to reveal invisible ink. It worked on Tom Riddle’s diary. Oh, fuck this. The Party knows best.”
She brought down a cork and some glass tubing, which she stuck in the top of the flask. Then she lit a burner. After a minute, white fumes rose off the crystals and floated along the pipe. She waited until it streamed and then held the envelope to it. Thirty seconds later, the flap sprung open.
“And the Americans say we can’t innovate,” she said, handing it to Mei. “Have a look inside.”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Supposed to?” said Feng mockingly. “Go on, I won’t look.”
Mei took the envelope to a corner, feeling a flat, hard rectangle inside it. She didn’t want to know what it was. But as she hesitated, Yao moved.
“Let me see.” He put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her body back against his to gain a better view.
Taking the envelope, he pulled out a packet of green-and-purple bills bound in a white band. Each bore a cross and the image of a bald man in a high white collar, and next to it the words “Schweizerische Nationalbank.” They were crisp, unused one thousand Swiss franc
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