“I bet you will,” Kaiyu said. “So, no one like that showed up in the past couple of hours?”
“It’s been quiet today. We’ve had a steady stream of families and businessmen. No ‘racks’ worth writing home about. No four-eyed pretty boys.”
“Call me if you see anyone like that.”
“I’m off duty soon, but I’ll pass it on to the night shift. If I get a call from them, I’ll let you know.”
“Great.” Kaiyu dropped his phone back into his pocket.
“If he’s not at the Consulate,” Ng-zhi said, “then what’s he doing in this neighbourhood?”
“Maybe they’re waiting till after dark before they hit the Consulate. We should check out the neighbourhood. We can start with the park.”
Ng-zhi pulled into a spot not far from the park’s main entrance. He lifted the printed photos of Randy Chan from his pocket and gave one to Jiu.
“I’ll work that end,” Ng-zhi said.
Jiu Kaiyu nodded. He started for the other end of the park beyond the fountain, where a group of middle-aged women were playing mahjong at a picnic table. He showed the photo to them, but they shook their heads.
He moved on to an old man who was sweeping the sidewalks and from there kept working his way towards a fountain in the park’s centre. He could see Ng-zhi at the other end of the park talking to a handful of teens who were throwing a neon green sponge football.
A man sat on a bench on the other side of the fountain, the palms of his hands resting on his knees as he stared into the spurting water. Jiu had the feeling the man’s eyes were following him, but whenever he glanced toward the bench his gaze was firmly fixed on the fountain.
Jiu had a sixth sense about some things. Everything about the man, from his bearing to his secret awareness of his surroundings, made Jiu believe he was a cop.
Jiu was not interested in whatever business the man might have in the park. He had his own business to attend to. Fanning himself casually with the printed photo, he walked around the fountain and approached the bench.
The man did not stand, but raised his eyes as if he had been expecting Jiu to join him.
“Sir, I am on government business,” Jiu said. “I am looking for this man. He is a foreigner wanted for questioning. We have reason to believe he has been in this area. Have you seen him?”
The man took the picture from Jiu and studied it carefully, taking in Randy Chan’s features the way only a professional would and committing his face to memory. Then he looked up at Jiu and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t seen him.”
“How long have you been in the park?”
“Not long. If I should see him, what department should I call?”
The question was proof to Jiu the man was a cop, just as he had thought. Only a pro would know enough to narrow down the correct department to be contacted.
“Here’s my card,” Jiu said. “I’m with the Ministry of Security. This man is a suspected terrorist.”
“OK,” Wang Yong-qi said. “If I see him, I’ll call right away.” He tucked Jiu’s card into his jacket pocket, not daring to glance toward Cheng who watched from the car.
“Thank you,” Jiu said, leaving Wang to resume his intent study of the park’s fountain.
THIRTY-THREE
Fa-ling glanced at Adrian and Ting-lo Harlan. Since their visit to her room earlier that day, she’d had the uneasy feeling they were hiding something. They did not seem like people who would indulge in gossip or curiosity. As usual, Ting-lo was dressed in high style, but her colourful clothes did nothing to hide the discomfort caused by her headache.
The couples waited for what seemed like a long time, until the room became stuffy and Joseph had to open the door. The Kitchener girls made a beeline for the hallway, in search of cooler air. Their dresses were sweaty and rumpled and their curls stuck miserably to their foreheads.
“Don’t wander away, girls,” Caroline said. Harold stood in the doorway to keep an eye on his daughters as they ran up and down the hall.
After another fifteen minutes Cynthia finally stuck her head into the room.
“It’s time,” she said. “Come with me.”
She led the group to the staircase again. They stepped up to the fourth floor and made their way to a large room with a stage along one wall. Red banners decorated with golden stars hung from the ceiling. The windows were covered with heavy red velvet curtains that were trimmed with gold.
“Beautiful,” said Eloise. Yvanna Brahn pulled a digital camera from her purse and began to photograph the room. Even Ting-lo and Adrian smiled at their surroundings.
“Here they come,” Paula said. Guy put his arm around her and everyone watched as a middle-aged woman entered the room followed by five young nannies, each holding a scrawny, blotchy looking baby in her arms.
“Which one is Anna?” Ting-lo said.
“I don’t know,” Adrian answered. “It’s been six months since the photo was taken. The babies are over a year old now. None of them looks like the picture we got of Anna.”
“What kind of a mother am I?” Ting-lo said. “I don’t even recognise my own baby.”
“Join the club,” Caroline Kitchener said.
Cynthia stood near a middle-aged woman at the podium.
“Everyone,” she said, “this is the director of the orphanage. She would like to say a few words to you all before the ceremony begins.”
The woman spoke in Cantonese, and Cynthia translated for the group. Only Ting-lo and Fa-ling were aware of how Cynthia subtly altered the woman’s speech to make it more fitting to Western ears.
“These babies,” the director said, “we give to you, with several conditions attached. The first of these conditions is that you promise to provide a quality education for the children. The second is that you feed, clothe and care for them, even if they become sick, and even if they present problems for you at some time, just as you would your own biological children.”
At this point, Cynthia knowingly added in English that the parents must promise to raise the children in an environment of love.
“Most importantly,” the director continued, “you must each promise solemnly never to physically harm these children, nor to abandon them, even if you should come to face financial hardship, and to provide for them the basic necessities of life at all times.”
Cynthia wisely neglected to translate the part about physically harming the babies, knowing it would spark horror among the parents, and instead admonished them in English only to promise never to abandon them.
The words were chilling, even without inclusion of the harsher phrases. For the first time, each parent was granted a tiny glimpse into the reality of the hardships faced by China’s ‘orphans’. Those babies lucky enough to survive to this point needed assurance their future would be both loving and secure.
Fa-ling looked from the five babies, each dressed in an orange jump suit that was soiled and ill fitting, to the faces of the new parents. She wasn’t sure which group displayed greater emotion, the babies with their gaunt, worried eyes, stepping into a future that was a complete mystery to them, or the parents. There were tears in the eyes of every adult. Even Paula Kader was moved at the sight of the starving, mottled infants that were being held so proudly in the arms of their young nannies.
“And now,” the director announced, “we will begin the ceremony. Please have your adoption documents ready to show us when your family name is called.”
The couples readied their papers.
“We will begin with the family Kitchener, to whom we present Baby Kitchener.” Harold and Caroline each took one daughter in hand, and led the girls to the podium. The first nanny joined them at the front of the room. They showed their papers to the director, and the nanny put a baby girl into their arms. The infant immediately began to cry, overwhelmed at the tension in the room and shocked by the change from the relatively familiar to the unknown.
“Oh, my God,” Caroline cried
out, “she’s so beautiful!” She held the child firmly against her shoulder, rocking her with a motion that was common to all mothers.
The group cheered with the presentation of each new child. The third baby to be presented was, to everyone’s surprise, a little boy. Yvanna and Chris Brahn had not told anyone they were expecting a son, not wanting to be marked out as ‘different’, at least until they knew the group a little better.
The final girl was presented to Eloise and Joseph Golluck, both of whom wept as their baby was passed into their arms. Their new daughter howled, showing off a set of lungs that would never be ignored.
“This is our dream come true,” Joseph said, wrapping his new family in his arms as the group crowded around.
Fa-ling stood at the edge of the families, feeling like a fraud, or some voyeur at a peep show, certain everyone must wonder how she had the nerve to be there with them at this precious moment in their lives. Still, she would not have missed it for anything. It was a vital part of a mystery that she was trying so desperately to understand, each piece of the puzzle being critical to the enlightenment she was seeking.
Ting-lo and Adrian came up beside her, carrying little Anna. Even in her dirty orange jump suit, it was obvious from her delicate features that Anna was the prettiest baby in the group. It was fitting she had been matched with the Harlan’s.
“Congratulations,” Fa-ling said. “Little Anna is beautiful.”
“We’re so glad you’re here with us,” Ting-lo said, surprising Fa-ling with her emotion. “We will always remember this room and this moment with you in it. You are part of the most important event in our lives.”
“I am honoured to share this experience with all of you,” Fa-ling said, kissing Ting-lo on the cheek and shaking Adrian’s hand. “I’m a little disappointed, though, you’re not handing out cigars!”
The couple laughed, their worries falling away for the time being and leaving them free to feel the joy that filled the room.
“You sneaky devils,” Joseph shouted, slapping Chris Brahn on the back. “You didn’t tell us you were getting a son!”
“It was a complete surprise to us,” Yvanna said. “We asked for a little girl, just like everyone else did. You could have knocked us over with a feather when we received the proposal in the mail.”
“Believe it or not, we almost sent the offer back to China!” Chris said. “You know how it is. You get a fixed idea in your head of how things are supposed to go. We were supposed to have a daughter. It finally dawned on us if we were giving birth, we would not be able to control the gender, so why should we control it through adoption?”
“This is our new son, Daniel,” Yvanna said, holding the little boy up for everyone to see.
Paula Kader looked at Yvanna, unable to hide her shock. “I thought they only gave boys to movie stars,” she said.
Everyone laughed except for Fa-ling. She was aware of the Brahn’s secret, that they were in fact exceedingly wealthy, despite their attempts to dress and act just like everyone else. They were different in the way only people who are born into major or old money can be. The traits that signified privilege were built into their cores. Such markers couldn’t be unlearned.
Fa-ling wondered what people like the Brahns were doing adopting a baby from China. After all, she thought, their sort wouldn’t have any trouble adopting a newborn from within Canada.
Would they?
THIRTY-FOUR
Shopei and Randy arrived at the street of the Shanghai American Consulate in the early afternoon. They found a local restaurant where they could linger and wait for the call from Gui-Jing’s husband. Based on a hazy description of Tang provided by his wife, Master Long had drawn a quick sketch. When he showed it to Gui-Jing she nodded her approval, but she was too weak to offer improvements. She did explain that her husband answered only to his childhood nickname of Tang.
Shopei had abandoned the white silk mourning outfit and was once again dressed in her office clothes. Though they were slightly rumpled, she was still the most elegant woman in the diner.
Randy was tempted to order a beer, but he knew it would dull his senses. Instead he followed Shopei’s example and stuck with the green tea that was served with dim sum.
“You’re sure it’s turned on?” Shopei said, pointing at Randy’s phone.
“I’m sure, but the battery’s getting weak. I hope he calls soon.”
Shopei broke off a piece of jellyfish and offered it to her cousin.
“No, thanks. I’ll pass on that.”
“Good protein,” she said, popping it into her mouth.
Suddenly the phone rang and they both jumped. Shopei managed to swallow the jellyfish without choking. She reached for the phone.
“Hello,” she said.
“Yes, this is Wu Tang,” the voice said. “I have arrived in Shanghai. I can be at the American Consulate within half an hour.”
“Good. There is a small park with a fountain at the end of the street. Please sit on the nearby bench. Wait for us there. Are you alone?”
“Yes,” Wang Yong-qi answered. He hoped Cheng, who was sitting next to him in the rental car, wouldn’t break into one of his coughing fits.
“Stay on the bench until we arrive.”
“What if there are no seats?”
“Then stand beside the bench,” she said.
The plan was for Randy and Shopei to compare Wu Tang to the sketch before they approached him. Only when they were reasonably satisfied he fit Gui-Jing’s description would they bring him to Long’s house.
**
“What do you think?” Randy said. From their vantage-point on the other side of the fountain he used his zoom lens to photograph the man on the bench.
“It’s hard to tell,” Shopei said. “He’s the right age, right build. I’m trying to imagine what Gui-Jing was like before she was imprisoned, and what kind of man she would have married.”
“In the States we have a saying: You can always smell a pig.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that a cop is a cop, in any country. They all look the same.”
“You think he’s a cop?” Shopei looked around the park. “No one else seems to be with him. Maybe we should talk to him before we decide what to do.”
“Call him on the phone first. Tell him we can’t get to the park. Tell him to meet us at the dim sum place. Let’s see how he reacts to the call. If he talks into his collar or if he calls someone, then we’ll walk away.”
“Good idea,” Shopei said. She took the phone from Randy. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand to reduce the noise from the water fountain. She and Randy watched as the man fumbled to retrieve his phone from his pocket.
“Hello,” Yong-qi said.
“Is this Wu?” Shopei said.
“It is. I am waiting for you at the fountain as we agreed.”
“I am not able to get to the park after all. There is a dim sum restaurant half a block from the Consulate called The Lucky Monkey. Meet me there.”
“I didn’t see a restaurant on this street.”
“It’s on the other side of the American building. It has a purple sign.”
Wang Yong-qi paused. His instincts told him he was being watched. He tried to imagine how Wu Tang would react to this new request. No doubt the husband of a dying woman would be frantic, and would not take kindly to being played with. He stood up and paced nervously.
“Why can’t you come here?” he demanded. “This is where we agreed to meet.”
“If you want to see your wife, come to the restaurant immediately.” Shopei closed the phone and handed it back to her cousin.
Randy continued to photograph the man. He wished Master Long had a computer so he could email a photo to Gui-Jing. He’d heard how Long had no desire to own a computer, despite his love of gadgets. He wanted nothing that would provoke the envy of his neighbours. He appreciated only those people and things that made their way onto his life’s path: his patient
s, his garden, his immediate neighbourhood.
Shopei watched the man put his phone into his jacket pocket. He stopped pacing suddenly, looked up at the sky, raised his arms in frustration and started toward the park exit.
Shopei hurried to intercept him.
“Wait,” Randy said. He was still not convinced the man was who he pretended to be. Everything about him — the thrust of his jaw, the way his clothes sat on his body — fit Randy’s idea of a cop.
“He didn’t call anyone,” Shopei said. “I’m sure he’s the husband.”
Wang turned when Shopei called out to him. He feigned surprise, then annoyance. He hoped Cheng, who was watching him from the rental car parked a short distance away, was enjoying his performance.
Wang was not concerned that Cheng would lose sight of him. He’d left his weapon in the car, but he could feel the outline of a tiny GPS locating device pressing against his thigh from inside the pocket of his jeans. He hoped the girl would be too modest to search him thoroughly.
He was surprised to see a young man trot up beside the girl. He should have realised she would not come alone.
“Wu Tang,” Shopei said, “are you the husband of Wu Gui-Jing?”
“I am,” Wang said.
“Please open your coat,” Randy said. Shopei translated his words into Cantonese and Wang did as he was told.
“Take it off.”
Wang Yong-qi took his coat off and handed it to Randy.
Randy checked inside the pockets.
“Do you have any identification?” he asked.
“No. Since my wife was taken, I have not carried any papers.”
“Lift your arms,” Randy said. Wang obeyed, and Randy patted him down for weapons before returning his jacket to him.
“When was your wife taken?” Shopei asked.
“About two months ago.” Wang was bluffing, not knowing the answer. Luckily for him, Shopei was also bluffing. She had no idea how long Gui-Jing was in prison before her father brought her to Long. “Who are you?” Wang demanded.
“Who we are is not important. Why was your wife arrested?” Shopei asked.
The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map Page 15
