tear the country apart. There is great fear, as I have already documented, that the communists, who now hold sway in the south, will soon conquer the whole of the country. It is felt by some that Lu may be an important figure in ensuring that the Settlement and the French Concession are not in any way violated (the
Alabama
and
Sheffield
arrived today, serving as a reminder of the consequences to any Chinese force of attempting such an action).
As recorded in previous dispatches, we have ourselves made contact with Lu, whilst in no way, as a force, weakening our attempts to stifle and close down his criminal activities. It is clear, though, that he is as committed as we are to the total resistance of Bolshevism. He has, on occasion, provided useful intelligence on Michael Borodin and other Comintern agents who are trying to foment revolution in the Settlement, funding the communist army in the south and operating under the cover of the Soviet consulate (see summary on activities of Sov. cons. and Comintern 11th Dec 1925).
At the bottom, Granger had written, again in pencil:
Borodin. Communists on move. Unifying China? Pact with devil?
The rest of the file was full of newspaper clippings, many detailing Lu’s charitable and legitimate business activities. One had a photograph of him handing over a check to a middle-aged woman at the Horticultural Society of Shanghai charity tea. He was a portly man in a long silk top, a chubby hand holding his end of the check up toward the camera lens. Another showed him doing the same for the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage.
Field shut the file and tapped his fingers on its cover. This was only a summary, so he wondered what was in the “current” file that was still in Granger’s possession.
Field opened Natasha Medvedev’s folder with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. A passport photograph of her, of poor quality, was attached to a single sheet. Her summary was as sparse as Lena Orlov’s.
Natasha Medvedev resides at the Happy Times block on Foochow Road, on the top floor. She is a native of Kazan on the Volga and arrived in Shanghai via Vladivostok on the 12th January 1922. She is an associate of Michael Borodin.
Beneath that, Field could only see a series of dates and times, listing meetings she had attended at the offices of the
New Shanghai Life.
This information had obviously come from an informant, because alongside each entry, someone—Prokopieff, probably—had written:
said nothing of note.
There was also a list of the seven occasions upon which she had been seen entering the Soviet consulate. Two of these were late at night.
Field picked up his pencil and tapped it gently alongside each entry, going down the page. Natasha Medvedev was, he thought, just as vulnerable as Lena Orlov had been. Russians did not enjoy the rights of extraterritoriality here—the right to be governed by the laws of their own country—so anyone caught “fomenting revolution” was liable to be tried by the mixed courts and then expelled to the Chinese city and the merciless hands of the local warlord. This had happened a month ago to a Hungarian. He’d been tried, found guilty, and “put in prison,” but his family was still trying to locate him.
Field returned to Lena Orlov’s file and placed the two summaries next to each other.
The two women were from the same town and they’d attended the same meetings at the
New Shanghai Life
on the same days.
He stood, looking at his watch, suddenly worried he would be late.
Six
F ield emerged onto the street, relieved to feel a breeze on his face, even if it did carry with it the smell of dead fish and stagnant water from the wharves and the sulfurous pollution of factories over in Pudong, on the far side of the Whangpoo River.
He had changed into his father’s dinner jacket, but it was just as thick and hot.
Once it became clear he wasn’t getting into a car, he was besieged by a group of rickshaw pullers—every one
Alabama
and
Sheffield
arrived today, serving as a reminder of the consequences to any Chinese force of attempting such an action).
As recorded in previous dispatches, we have ourselves made contact with Lu, whilst in no way, as a force, weakening our attempts to stifle and close down his criminal activities. It is clear, though, that he is as committed as we are to the total resistance of Bolshevism. He has, on occasion, provided useful intelligence on Michael Borodin and other Comintern agents who are trying to foment revolution in the Settlement, funding the communist army in the south and operating under the cover of the Soviet consulate (see summary on activities of Sov. cons. and Comintern 11th Dec 1925).
At the bottom, Granger had written, again in pencil:
Borodin. Communists on move. Unifying China? Pact with devil?
The rest of the file was full of newspaper clippings, many detailing Lu’s charitable and legitimate business activities. One had a photograph of him handing over a check to a middle-aged woman at the Horticultural Society of Shanghai charity tea. He was a portly man in a long silk top, a chubby hand holding his end of the check up toward the camera lens. Another showed him doing the same for the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage.
Field shut the file and tapped his fingers on its cover. This was only a summary, so he wondered what was in the “current” file that was still in Granger’s possession.
Field opened Natasha Medvedev’s folder with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. A passport photograph of her, of poor quality, was attached to a single sheet. Her summary was as sparse as Lena Orlov’s.
Natasha Medvedev resides at the Happy Times block on Foochow Road, on the top floor. She is a native of Kazan on the Volga and arrived in Shanghai via Vladivostok on the 12th January 1922. She is an associate of Michael Borodin.
Beneath that, Field could only see a series of dates and times, listing meetings she had attended at the offices of the
New Shanghai Life.
This information had obviously come from an informant, because alongside each entry, someone—Prokopieff, probably—had written:
said nothing of note.
There was also a list of the seven occasions upon which she had been seen entering the Soviet consulate. Two of these were late at night.
Field picked up his pencil and tapped it gently alongside each entry, going down the page. Natasha Medvedev was, he thought, just as vulnerable as Lena Orlov had been. Russians did not enjoy the rights of extraterritoriality here—the right to be governed by the laws of their own country—so anyone caught “fomenting revolution” was liable to be tried by the mixed courts and then expelled to the Chinese city and the merciless hands of the local warlord. This had happened a month ago to a Hungarian. He’d been tried, found guilty, and “put in prison,” but his family was still trying to locate him.
Field returned to Lena Orlov’s file and placed the two summaries next to each other.
The two women were from the same town and they’d attended the same meetings at the
New Shanghai Life
on the same days.
He stood, looking at his watch, suddenly worried he would be late.
Six
F ield emerged onto the street, relieved to feel a breeze on his face, even if it did carry with it the smell of dead fish and stagnant water from the wharves and the sulfurous pollution of factories over in Pudong, on the far side of the Whangpoo River.
He had changed into his father’s dinner jacket, but it was just as thick and hot.
Once it became clear he wasn’t getting into a car, he was besieged by a group of rickshaw pullers—every one
Similar Books
