notes.
“Fuck.” Yao pushed the packet back into the envelope and tried to close the flap, but it lifted open. He hurried across the room to Feng, who was sitting on a bench, gazing at the ceiling.
“Close it, please.”
She bent over the envelope, stroking gum from a nail polish-sized bottle onto the paper. “You know what a guy I knew told me? The most important quality in a spy is the ability to forget.”
Feng held out the envelope to Mei, and she took it reluctantly. No matter how hard she tried to shun it, the evidence kept seeking her out.
Yao opened the door and beckoned Mei inside. He wore pajamas under a silk nightgown, sash tied lightly at the waist, displaying a wedge of bare chest. The silk was embroidered with a red dragon, on fabric finer than anything she owned.
“Don’t let anyone spot you. It might spoil your reputation.”
Mei lacked the energy for a retort. It was late, and she was tense. Even Yao didn’t look at ease.
Yao’s room was like hers—a bedroom with a small bathroom attached to a tiny kitchenette, a study with a desk, and a two-person sofa. Their lives as cadres were the same too. They ate every meal in the commissary, except for a few excursions—nights in Guangzhou, shopping in Shenzhen, a walk in the park. The Party made sure that they didn’t have much time for recreation. Yet there was a gulf between them in the room’s small touches—the fabrics draped across his sofa and the photographs on his desk. He had so many cousins, it was unimaginable to her. There he was with his mother and aunt in Tiananmen Square, there with his father next to a rocket launcher at an Army parade.
Yao’s pedigree was impeccable. His family tree had army officers and high-level officials. One line led back to a great-granduncle who’d been among the Eight Immortals—Deng and the seven Party officials who’d followed Mao. That alone gave him an exalted stature—he was destined for high office. Which didn’t escape the attention of the girls who fell into his bed, she thought.
She sat on Yao’s sofa while he paced around the room in his slippers. “What do we do?” she asked.
The envelope with its customs seal was still in her pocket, the stack of Swiss franc notes shifting inside when she moved. Mei knew that if she gave it to the Wolf it would be the end of him, and knew that she’d been chosen for the task.
“You heard Feng. Give it to him, walk away, forget it. The Wolf’s at the end of his career, and we’re at the start. I bet he’s been on the take for years.”
“I don’t believe that.” It was too neat, this affair. Pan had been onto her as soon as she’d returned from Dongguan, with a mission to bring him down.
“What don’t you believe?” He was exasperated, as if Mei were being deliberately obstructive.
“That he’s corrupt. This is a setup, Yao, can’t you see? Why were we sent to the docks? Why did Hou produce the envelope? Why did Feng open it and tell us to take a look? It’s all fixed.”
Yao clenched his jaw and groaned. “Do you really believe that? What’s in the envelope, anyway? Ten or twenty notes, fifteen thousand francs. That’s nothing for a man in his position. Do you think he’s been clean for all these years and that this is his first sweetener?”
“So why were we chosen to catch him?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be our job?”
Mei laughed. “Of course—two cadres in training at the Discipline Commission. Just the people you send to trap the boss of the organization. They must do that all the time, we just haven’t heard of it.”
“Okay then, so why?” He stood in front of her, waving an arm in frustration. “You’re so much smarter than I am. I’d just a dumb princeling, that’s what you really think.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.” He was shouting, angrier than she’d ever seen him. “You do. So, why us?”
Mei’s fingers dug into her knees. “Not us.
Me
.”
“Right.
You
. Because you’re
“Fuck.” Yao pushed the packet back into the envelope and tried to close the flap, but it lifted open. He hurried across the room to Feng, who was sitting on a bench, gazing at the ceiling.
“Close it, please.”
She bent over the envelope, stroking gum from a nail polish-sized bottle onto the paper. “You know what a guy I knew told me? The most important quality in a spy is the ability to forget.”
Feng held out the envelope to Mei, and she took it reluctantly. No matter how hard she tried to shun it, the evidence kept seeking her out.
Yao opened the door and beckoned Mei inside. He wore pajamas under a silk nightgown, sash tied lightly at the waist, displaying a wedge of bare chest. The silk was embroidered with a red dragon, on fabric finer than anything she owned.
“Don’t let anyone spot you. It might spoil your reputation.”
Mei lacked the energy for a retort. It was late, and she was tense. Even Yao didn’t look at ease.
Yao’s room was like hers—a bedroom with a small bathroom attached to a tiny kitchenette, a study with a desk, and a two-person sofa. Their lives as cadres were the same too. They ate every meal in the commissary, except for a few excursions—nights in Guangzhou, shopping in Shenzhen, a walk in the park. The Party made sure that they didn’t have much time for recreation. Yet there was a gulf between them in the room’s small touches—the fabrics draped across his sofa and the photographs on his desk. He had so many cousins, it was unimaginable to her. There he was with his mother and aunt in Tiananmen Square, there with his father next to a rocket launcher at an Army parade.
Yao’s pedigree was impeccable. His family tree had army officers and high-level officials. One line led back to a great-granduncle who’d been among the Eight Immortals—Deng and the seven Party officials who’d followed Mao. That alone gave him an exalted stature—he was destined for high office. Which didn’t escape the attention of the girls who fell into his bed, she thought.
She sat on Yao’s sofa while he paced around the room in his slippers. “What do we do?” she asked.
The envelope with its customs seal was still in her pocket, the stack of Swiss franc notes shifting inside when she moved. Mei knew that if she gave it to the Wolf it would be the end of him, and knew that she’d been chosen for the task.
“You heard Feng. Give it to him, walk away, forget it. The Wolf’s at the end of his career, and we’re at the start. I bet he’s been on the take for years.”
“I don’t believe that.” It was too neat, this affair. Pan had been onto her as soon as she’d returned from Dongguan, with a mission to bring him down.
“What don’t you believe?” He was exasperated, as if Mei were being deliberately obstructive.
“That he’s corrupt. This is a setup, Yao, can’t you see? Why were we sent to the docks? Why did Hou produce the envelope? Why did Feng open it and tell us to take a look? It’s all fixed.”
Yao clenched his jaw and groaned. “Do you really believe that? What’s in the envelope, anyway? Ten or twenty notes, fifteen thousand francs. That’s nothing for a man in his position. Do you think he’s been clean for all these years and that this is his first sweetener?”
“So why were we chosen to catch him?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be our job?”
Mei laughed. “Of course—two cadres in training at the Discipline Commission. Just the people you send to trap the boss of the organization. They must do that all the time, we just haven’t heard of it.”
“Okay then, so why?” He stood in front of her, waving an arm in frustration. “You’re so much smarter than I am. I’d just a dumb princeling, that’s what you really think.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.” He was shouting, angrier than she’d ever seen him. “You do. So, why us?”
Mei’s fingers dug into her knees. “Not us.
Me
.”
“Right.
You
. Because you’re
Similar Books
