Xiao Bai - French Concession

After midnight, when they were finally taken to the boat, Hsueh walked unsteadily onto the pallet, as if he were in a nightmare.

The cargo boat sailed along Yang-ching Creek to the Whampoa. Frogs kept croaking on the banks. All the men were smoking, but the boat stank despite the breeze. Hsueh was sweating, and he couldn’t hide how nervous he was. The river made an oily gurgle in the moonlight.

The land along the banks where the Yang-ching flowed into the Whampoa belonged to Alfred Holt and Co., the shipping company that ran the Blue Funnel Line. The goods Hsueh and his companions wanted were on an eight-thousand-ton English cargo ship moored at a floating dock at the confluence of the rivers. The Blue Funnel Line’s ships ran almost every day from Hong Kong’s Swire Pier, beneath Signal Hill in Tsim Sha Tsui, to Shanghai. The passenger liners Hsueh usually took from Hong Kong to Shanghai set sail from that pier too.

Over years, Therese had built up a transport network involving the seamen on cargo ships. They were always short of money and usually willing to smuggle something onboard for a few extra bucks. Even though the Customs House was just across the river from the Blue Funnel Line’s piers, she never had any trouble slipping her contraband through.

As their small cargo boat drew noiselessly nearer to the larger ship, Hsueh broke out in a cold sweat. His hands trembled, and he could feel the sweat in his clammy armpits. “The signal!” Park hissed at him from the helm.

Hsueh started, and his flashlight nearly fell into the water. It wouldn’t switch on, so he pushed the button again, signaling toward the port-side stern of the ship, and waiting for the White Russian seaman to return the signal when he saw it. The huge cargo ship blocked out the sky, leaving only a sliver of starlight that outlined its silhouette.

It was quiet. Waves sloshed against the pier, and the odd seagull squawked. Except for a couple of dim lights among the rows of warehouses a hundred yards away, the riverbanks were pitch-black. There were no dockworkers or guards on patrol.

There were no policemen. The previous day, Hsueh had given Sarly the location of the pier and the name of the boat. Then, before setting out that afternoon, he had gone out on the pretext of buying cigarettes to call Sarly from a corner store and tell him the method of delivery. He realized he was putting both Therese and Leng in danger, but he didn’t dare to lie. There was no time to think of all that — too much going on. We’re taking this one step at a time, he told himself.

A light sparkled on the railing. He sent another inquiry signal, and the light answered. Then it was dark again. Several minutes later, two heavy packages were lowered onto the deck of the boat, shuddering as they descended.

The packages hovered briefly above the helm before thudding onto the deck. Park and the other two went up to untie the ropes and hoist the packages into the hold.

Two more packages followed.

They started the engine. It hummed gently, making eddies that were visible for several yards along the surface of the water. Hsueh glanced toward the shore again. Nothing stirred.

He couldn’t imagine why Lieutenant Sarly hadn’t acted on his tip. Again he was overcome by gratitude. Sarly must not have wanted to blow Hsueh’s cover. When he was flashing the signal just now, Hsueh had flattened himself against the cabin doors and only leaned out slightly, aware that he could be hit by a stray bullet if the police attacked from land. But no bullets came — Sarly must have wanted him to be safe.

He hadn’t been able to tell Sarly much. All he knew was that the delivery would take place on the river. He had no access to Ku’s plans, and he didn’t even know when they would reach Blue Funnel Pier. The Concession Police would barely have had the time to round up enough boats to make an arrest. On the other end of the line, Sarly said nothing for a long while, for so long that Hsueh began to imagine that Park was standing behind him and staring straight at him, that he had been discovered by Ku’s people, and would be gunned down as soon as he stepped out of the corner store.

Eventually, Sarly said: be careful. He didn’t tell Hsueh what he was planning, and he didn’t ask him to drag the meeting out or to disrupt it in any way. So he must have decided right then not to take action.

Hsueh attributed this to Lieutenant Sarly’s extraordinary friendship with his father. Sarly genuinely trusted him. He must be waiting for intelligence that would allow him to make the arrests when it was safer. For a moment, Hsueh’s gratitude to Sarly exceeded his affection for Therese and even for Leng.

But the hours of mental strain, physical exertion, sweating and stinking had left him exhausted. By the time he got into the Peugeot, all Hsueh’s muscles felt pleasantly numb. In the morning, he would go to the police headquarters as soon as he had taken leave of Ku’s gang. But first, to repay Sarly’s trust, he would find out where the goods were stashed.

Right now, they were under the backseat in the car, still in their packages. As he was carrying them, he had thought he could feel a metallic coolness beneath the tarp and the wax paper. The packages reeked of engine oil, so Park collected bits of cloth from all over the hut, and wrapped the packages in scraps that stank of rotting flesh.

The horizon at Wu-sung-k’ou was growing bright when they left the Yü clan village, and the car sped through the deserted countryside. They rolled down the windows, but the stench of cattle carcasses seemed to have been infused into the leather seats. They were all sweating profusely and extremely tired. Only the Korean, who was driving, still appeared to be brimming with energy.

They couldn’t cross the river yet. The first ferry wasn’t until seven. They parked by a grove of trees and laid out the food in their picnic basket. Hsueh had no appetite. He grabbed a bottle of soda and tipped it into his mouth.

Park had wrapped his hands around a slender tree and was yanking it upward, to relieve his tense shoulder muscles. He turned to ask Hsueh: “Where are you going after we cross the river? Would you like a lift in the car?”

Hsueh had a check for seven thousand yuan in his pocket. That was Therese’s money, and he had to get it to her. That was the sort of man he was. If you didn’t trust him, he would string you along for as long as possible, but as soon as you decided to trust him, he would become loyal to you and scrupulously honest. The previous afternoon, Therese had told him that she didn’t want her bodyguards involved in this deal; she wanted Hsueh to take charge of the whole process, payment included. Hsueh was moved, just as he had been moved by Lieutenant Sarly’s trust. But when he was terrified that night — looking out the window into a cemetery, for instance — he had daydreamed about running away. He couldn’t help thinking that seven thousand yuan would allow him to go anywhere he wanted with Leng.

“I have to deliver this money to someone.” Hsueh was not afraid of the man in front of him, even though he knew these people to be capable of shooting someone dead on the street. But he felt like an actor playing a possibly fatal role for which he was not yet prepared. Was this a trap? Didn’t stories of double-crossing gangsters appear every day in the Concession newspapers? He was exhausted, and probably imagining things.

JULY 13, YEAR 20 OF THE REPUBLIC.

8:45 A.M.

Therese was standing naked in front of her dressing table mirror, trying on a plaited chain belt. A revolver-shaped pendant dangled from it, brushing against her pubic hair. She plucked out a few hairs with a tweezer, making her hair a neat triangle. She had recently started caring more about how she looked.