Xiao Bai - French Concession

It was a brilliant plan. The more Lin thought about it, the better he liked it.

They were up all night, writing and rewriting the press statement. Lin had no way of getting a go-ahead from his Party superiors, so all he could do was write the opening lines himself, with some trepidation.

From the Shanghai Committee of the Chinese Communist Party to all residents of Shanghai:

Hsueh said the newspapers would never get away with running that statement on its own. It would be best to attach an article that framed it as a story. That way, newspapers and radio stations would take the risk of running it because Shanghai people loved “shocking crime stories.” Lin glared at him.

Lin hesitated to reveal the operation taking place the following day. He was worried that his message hadn’t gotten through to a few of his comrades. But he eventually decided to put it in. He copied the statement out twenty times, and Hsueh did some copying too.

Then they got on their bikes and delivered all those copies to various newspapers and radio stations. Hsueh went with Lin, because he knew where all the offices were. They got back at around four in the afternoon.

A comrade who had just returned from Rue Palikao gave them the startling news that Leng had been seen in the candle store. Park had told him to come back to the safe house and summon the rest of their unit to a meeting at the candle store. But when Lin told him what was going on, he immediately reported that Leng had been tied up and was being held there.

Lin didn’t stop to think. He rushed out to Rue Palikao, with Hsueh close behind.

They got there just as Leng was escaping from Park.

Lin now looked at the untidy storefront. It was littered with half-eaten food and cigarette butts, and the neatly stacked cardboard boxes had all been overturned. The guns and explosives hidden beneath the floorboards in the corner had disappeared.

Lin was afraid his cover had been blown. He must have sparked Ku’s suspicions by openly calling everyone in his unit to a meeting. Park had sped off as soon as he saw Lin, which meant that Ku knew the truth was out, and he would be desperate.

Lin didn’t know what Ku planned to do with the new weapon. He didn’t know Ku’s target, or when he would attack. The plan existed nowhere but in Ku’s brain. One of the comrades Lin had summoned to the meeting said the target was a bank. Another said they were supposed to meet at the stables opposite the Race Course. But there wasn’t a single bank anywhere near Mohawk Road. Ku always operated this way — he never revealed his whole plan to his operatives until seconds before it was meant to go into action.

They went into the warehouse behind the store. Ku must have held a meeting here — there was a tin stuffed with cigarette ends, and no one but Ku smoked this many cigarettes. Leng sat on a wooden shelf in the corner, clutching Hsueh’s hand.

Lin looked around the dark warehouse. All the windows had been nailed shut. The morning light and smoke were seeping in between the cracks, and the heap of coal smelled smoky in the humid air. He could hear someone scrubbing a toilet next door in Yu-i Alley. One of the boxes was only half full of firecrackers. A piece of paper lay on the side of the table where Ku usually sat.

Lin held it up to the light. He knew what this diagram was for. Ku always planned each operation very carefully. He would explore every inch of the location, and make a pencil sketch of the width of the streets, the doors and windows of each building, where to post an ambush or provide backup with a car.

But Lin couldn’t tell what the rows of little squares on either side of the street meant. He could see that Ku was planning to post his men by the squares, two on one side of the road, and one on the other. The target was on the near side of the road. Ku always drew a pig face for the target, with two large ears taking up half the pig’s face, and two black dots for nostrils. The triangle on one side of the diagram probably indicated a guard post. And there was a word written very small opposite the pig’s head. Lin peered at it closely. It was the word Kuan .

The sunlight filtering in between the planks grew brighter. Lin put the piece of paper back on the table. Leng came over to look at it, and suddenly cried: “I know where this is — it’s Rue du Consulat.”

“This is Rue des Pères, and this is Rue de Saigon,” she said, pointing them out. “The word Kuan is for Kuan-sheng Yüan. The squares are columns lining the arcade. The target must be the National Industrial Bank! And the Singapore Hotel is right there on the corner.”

Lin turned to look at her. He had to ask her this question directly, so as to get a direct answer.

“When you were arrested at the Singapore Hotel, you were taken to North Gate Police Station. Why did you lie? Why didn’t you tell Ku the truth?”

“I don’t know. I was afraid that if I did, the cell would expel me.”

“And could you tell me,” said Lin, turning to Hsueh, “what precisely is your relation to Inspector Maron? Why did you make contact with Ku via Leng?”

Hsueh couldn’t answer his question. “We’re friends, just friends,” he stammered. “No, actually, we’re good friends.”

Lin smiled at him. “Don’t worry, we know exactly what you’ve been up to. We would like to stay in contact with you. If you trust us, and trust that we’re working for a just cause, you can consider us your friends.”

JULY 14, YEAR 20 OF THE REPUBLIC.

9:10 A.M.

The bigger newspapers, like Shun Pao and Ta Kung Pao , mentioned the press statement briefly on their local pages. But some of the smaller tabloid-format newspapers that relied on press releases for most of their news printed it in full. The New Citizen , for instance, printed the full text on the bottom right-hand corner of the front page. The previous year, it had been temporarily shut down by the Shanghai Committee to Purify the Party for printing a photo of Chiang Kai-shek in full armor in an ad for a libido-boosting drug. Ads poking fun at the commander in chief were everywhere toward the end of the Kuomintang military campaign against regional warlords, but gradually they had been purged. The New Citizen ’s editor on night duty was cautious, but Hsueh pointed out that the Shun News Agency would almost certainly circulate the statement via their wire service, so the editor could attribute it to Shun and let them take responsibility for it. Sure enough, the New Citizen printed their convoluted story in a two-page article that consisted more or less of Lin’s words, with a few minor changes.

If Hsueh had run into Li Pao-i, he would have given him a copy of the press statement too. Even the Arsène Lupin had its regular readers. After seeing Leng safely onto a tram, he bought a copy of the New Citizen from the newsstand at the station. Lin was busy making sure that the comrades he had called to that meeting had somewhere safe to go. As for Leng, it would be simplest for her to stay in Hsueh’s rooms and rest.

But Hsueh couldn’t go home with her — there was something else he had to do. He found a public telephone booth on Boulevard de Montigny, and called Lieutenant Sarly’s office at the police headquarters.

Sarly answered the phone on the first ring. He must have been waiting for this phone call since he woke up and read the newspapers. He exploded before Hsueh could say anything.

“What’s this in the papers? Is there anything left for you to report to me? It’s all over the news! Ku’s gang aren’t Communists, but there’s a conspiracy to blame the Communists? Why didn’t you come to me first with this? What is this attack they’re planning? Why didn’t you report it to the police? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”