by Chan Ho-Kei
‘Kwan, if that’s the case, you ought to have told me right away.’ Graham picked up the documents and waved them in front of Kwan’s face. ‘If you’d said someone wanted to steal these papers, I’d have moved them elsewhere, or changed the combination right away.’
‘When did I say the criminals wanted to steal the documents?’
‘You did! Just now!’
‘They didn’t want to steal the documents, just the information they contained. And what’s more, they don’t want you to know that they’ve got that info.’
Graham tilted his head to one side and stared at Kwan, looking lost.
‘If you discovered the documents were missing, that’d only alarm the ICAC. The criminals would rather avoid that – far better that they operate in darkness. If they wanted to turn the tables, it was better you didn’t know how many chips they had left. When you and your family went to the movies and the amusement park at the weekend, did Liz come with you?’
‘Hmm, no... she said she’d let us spend some time together as a family.’
‘So yesterday or the day before, she received the copied key and combination from the criminals, and opened your safe. She was probably told to take photos of the documents.’
‘But when she discovered the documents were missing...’
‘Have a careful look at what’s in your hand.’
Once again, Graham removed the papers from his envelope and flipped through them.
‘Hey, there are eight pages missing.’
‘I left those eight pages in the safe,’ smiled Kwan. ‘If the criminals wanted intelligence, I thought I’d give it to them. I like placing my gambling chips out in the open. Except the criminals only see what’s in my hands and think that’s all of it, when actually the chair I’m sitting on has dozens of chips underneath.’
‘You... you deliberately misled the criminals?’
‘Liz will only have found eight pages in the safe. They’ll assume the drug pushers didn’t give up everything, only a small portion of their data in exchange for a lighter sentence. They’ll let their guard down towards the commission. And they’ll stop trying to dig up more about you, engineering a second or third fake kidnapping, a fake murder or the like.’
Graham finally understood why Kwan had taken the documents. He wanted to set the stage for the ICAC to nab as many corrupt cops as possible.
‘Kwan, did you ever imagine they might have kidnapped Alfred for real? I mean, because I’m an ICAC investigator and they wanted to teach me a lesson, stealing the documents and kidnapping Alfred too. I guess there was no way of knowing whether Alfred was truly safe or not.’
‘No, once I was sure their target was to copy your safe key, I relaxed, because a copied key meant someone would steal the documents later. They wouldn’t have wanted to alert you, which meant they had to have an insider. If Alfred had really been kidnapped, it would have been on Liz’s watch, and even if he came back unharmed, you’d probably still have fired her. Why make the situation that complicated? Kidnapping Alfred for real would have been difficult and pointless.’
Once again, Graham was in awe of Kwan’s intellect. He’d known Kwan Chun-dok was a smart investigator, but how he’d grown in just a few years. His deductive and strategic skills were impeccable, as was his ability to zero in on particular details. He felt embarrassed now to recall how he’d once tried to play the mentor to Kwan and teach him investigation skills. That was seven years ago, when Kwan was just twenty-three and had been assigned to Graham’s team during his London training. Naturally, when Graham had phoned asking for help, they’d agreed it would be best not to acknowledge they knew each other in front of the other officers.
‘Thinking about it, I’ve been in Hong Kong three years, and still haven’t taken you out for dinner,’ he now laughed.
‘Ah, but you’re at ICAC, and I’m in CID. If people saw us together, there’d be gossip. While the police and commission are at odds, I don’t think we’ll have much chance to meet.’ Despite their old acquaintance, Kwan knew he’d have to maintain a certain distance from Graham Hill – that would make everyone’s job easier. On Friday, when he’d received the phone call, he knew Graham wouldn’t have got in touch unless he were in serious difficulties. Kwan had figured it was likely the criminals would have insiders within the CID, and if Graham had just called the general police number, a team would be assigned to the case who would likely cover up Old Tsui’s part. Even if Old Tsui were exposed, the rest would still be hiding within the force. It would take Graham and his colleagues to root them all out at once.
‘Kwan, it’s a bit rude to ask, but why did you help me? Shouldn’t the police be on the side of the police?’ asked Graham thoughtfully.
‘I agree officers ought to support each other against common enemies, but only if everyone shares the aim of upholding justice. Blindly supporting another person just because he wears the same uniform is foolish. Police corruption is an epidemic and we can no longer solve it ourselves – we need outside help. I’ve always hated that cowardly idea of “running alongside the car” – yes, standing in front of the car will get you killed, so I’d rather sabotage the car and let it fall apart.’
‘Do you think we – I mean the commission – will succeed?’
‘I don’t know. If there are too many officers involved, the governor might be forced to face reality and issue an amnesty. But if things get that far, I’d still want the bad apples exposed and brought to trial, found guilty in the eyes of the law and sentenced. And those who’ve covered up guilt for the sake of personal gain – I want them to know that if they don’t reform, that’s the downfall awaiting them.’
Kwan Chun-dok looked out at the deep blue ocean, as if he could see the future of the police force. He was worried, but at the same time carried a thread of hope. Graham Hill, sitting next to him, was sharing these thoughts. They might notionally be on different sides, but their ideas were pointing in the same direction.
‘I won’t ask whether you’re planning to fire Liz – that’s your decision,’ said Kwan, getting out of the car. ‘But be sure to ask for a new safe as soon as you can.’
‘Wouldn’t you like a lift into town?’
‘No, it’s better if no one sees us together. I’ll take the bus.’
‘Kwan, you’ve been a great help to me today. I’m truly grateful – I owe you so much. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, just say the word. Anything at all.’
‘Heh, now you mention it, you do owe me dinner – though that’ll be tricky in the next year or two.’ Kwan smiled through the car window. ‘I had to run around all over Kowloon to get you that stack of prospectuses. My fiancée must have thought I had a bastard child somewhere, ready to start school...’
VI
BORROWED TIME:
1967
1
I DON’T KNOW how Hong Kong ended up like this.
Four months ago, I had no idea that our city would wind up in this state.
Standing on the border of madness and reason.
And the border’s growing blurry. We can no longer tell what’s sane or crazy, what’s just or evil, what’s right or wrong.
Perhaps all we can ask for is to be safe – continued existence as the only purpose in life.
Laughable.
Perhaps I’m thinking too much about this. I’m a young guy of less than twenty, after all, and can’t really get worked up about these deep theories. They’re beyond my ken.
Every time I bring up the state of the world with Elder Brother, he laughs and says, ‘You don’t even have a job, what do you know about these big ideas?’
He has a point.
Elder Brother is three years older than me. We’re not related by blood, but we’ve known each other many years, and now we live in the same boarding house – so we’re related by difficulty, so to speak. Like Patrick Tse and Bowie Wu in My Intimate Partner, that film from a few years back, two poor devils struggling to earn a living. Of course,
we’re not quite as badly off as them, cheating and stealing to feed themselves, but while we just about have a place to stay, and stave off hunger pangs with tea and plain rice, we haven’t managed to save a cent.
My parents died early and I had to find a job before even finishing high school. I’ve been doing odd jobs for some years now, but ever since the ‘disturbance’ erupted this May, it’s been hard to find anything. With all the unions agitating for strikes and protests, even ordinary factory work seems impossible to come by. So for now I’m helping my landlord take care of his store, and now and then running errands for extra cash.
My landlord’s name is Ho Hei. He’s somewhere between fifty and sixty, and runs a store with his wife on Spring Garden Lane in Wan Chai – it’s named Ho Hei Kee, after himself, with the standard business-name suffix. I can’t remember what Mrs Ho is called. To be honest, I only remember Mr Ho’s full name because it’s right there in big letters on that sign I see every day. I just call them Mr and Mrs Ho, or sometimes ‘Landlord-Father’ and ‘Landlady-Mother’. Ho Hei Kee is on the ground floor of a four-storey building. The Hos live on the first floor, and after their children moved out some years ago, turned the rest of that property into a rooming house, for single young people like us. It’s freezing in winter and boiling in summer, full of mosquitoes and other insects, and there’s a big rush for the shared bathroom and kitchen in the morning, but the rent is so cheap I can’t complain. I have it a lot better than many others. Mr and Mrs Ho are good people – they’ve never gone after anyone for owing rent, and on holidays they’ll share a meal with us. You’d never guess from the way they look, but I believe Mr Ho must have quite a bit saved up, and doesn’t need to worry about money. They only seem to keep the shop open out of habit, and don’t care if it makes a profit or loss.
Mr Ho often says that young people ought to be ambitious, rather than settling for a lifetime of odd jobs or shop work. I know that very well, and Elder Brother is always urging me to better myself in my spare time, flip through the dictionary to improve my English, so that when the time comes I can achieve something great. Sometimes, when sailors from the US Navy come to the shop to buy soda or beer, I try speaking to them in English, although I have no idea whether they understand what I’m saying.
I look through the newspaper ads every day, hoping to find a suitable job. There’s another way out – I could always apply to the police force. Although there’s that saying ‘Good men don’t become cops’, I think it’s actually a cool idea – fighting for justice, putting fear into the hearts of bad guys, a stable income, separate quarters once you get married. Some people say the police just get ordered around by their British superiors, but if I were a clerk in Central, my boss would just as likely be white. All that talk about ‘the racial spirit’ – that’s so much hot air, in this society. The thing is, Elder Brother’s always been against me joining the force. He says police lives are cheap, and the government pays for Chinese officers to serve as cannon fodder, protecting the British elite. If the colonial government ran into trouble, the Chinese would wind up as collateral damage.
I’d never have guessed how right Elder Brother was.
Thinking back, this whole affair began over a tiny incident. In April, there was a dispute at a factory in San Po Kong in Kowloon – the management had imposed some strict new conditions, no time off, that sort of thing, which the workers objected to. When they couldn’t come to an agreement, the boss found some excuse to fire the union representatives, which touched off a demonstration. Some workers’ associations began blocking production until the police had to be brought in. The demonstration became an uprising, with workers hurling stones and glass bottles at the police, who responded with wooden bullets. The authorities imposed a curfew on East Kowloon, and several of the larger unions joined in the fight, taking advantage of revolutionary fervour on the Mainland to make a stand against the colonial government. What started out as a labour dispute became a political struggle.
And now the situation’s out of control.
Within a month, the row had escalated to a national quarrel between China and Britain. Leftist workers, with support from Beijing, set up the Hong Kong and Kowloon Anti-Hong Kong British Persecution Struggle Committee – the Anti-British Struggle Committee for short. Crowds surrounded the governor’s mansion, accusing the colonial government of being fascist oppressors. The government wouldn’t give an inch, and police officers were dispatched to put down the unrest, dispersing the crowds with tear gas and forcibly arresting ‘troublemakers’. More workers went on strike, shops closed, schools shut down, and quite a few citizens supported this, while the government hit back with more curfews – the most seen on Hong Kong Island since the Second World War, two decades ago.
At the start of July, a group of Mainlanders crossed the border at Chung Ying Street, entering Hong Kong territory in order to ‘assist’ the workers and take part in the protests. The Hong Kong border guards opened fire on them, and militiamen from China retaliated. The Hong Kong side were trapped when they ran out of ammo, and by the time the British had dispatched troops to help, five officers were dead.
‘Does the Mainland want to take Hong Kong back early?’ I remember Mr Ho saying that day, as we listened to the news on the store radio. God knew if Chairman Mao planned to send the People’s Army in to chase away the British ahead of time. After all, 1967 is just 1997 with one digit flipped over.
In the days after the gunfight, people said the British were preparing to retreat and leave Hong Kong to its fate. If China really did go to war with the UK, they’d want to evacuate, and the police would have to make sure they were able to get away, no matter the damage to themselves. Even though Elder Brother didn’t bring up my wanting to join the force, I knew he must have been thinking, ‘I told you so.’
We’re now two months on from those events, and there haven’t been any further clashes, but from time to time, people still talk about ‘the Communist Party liberating Hong Kong’. On 22 July, the colonial government declared a state of emergency, not only forbidding the possession of firearms and ammo, it became illegal even to be in the same place as a restricted item, or to travel with an armed companion. Inflammatory leaflets and anti-government posters were outlawed, and gatherings of more than three people were declared to be illegal assemblies. They couldn’t stop the major newspapers, which received direct support from Beijing, but several smaller leftist papers were shut down. They talked about the ‘spirit of the law’ and ‘freedom of the press’, but that was just bull.
Still, it takes two hands to clap, and it can’t be denied that the leftist workers went too far in their ‘anti-British struggle’.
The leftists had already used blast-fishing bombs and acid in their attacks on the police, but since British troops sent helicopters to assist a police raid on the Struggle Committee’s headquarters, they’ve started using more powerful explosives. In the last month or so, the streets have been full of real and fake bombs – the Honkongers call them ‘pineapples’ – the idea being to run the police ragged. All of them look perfectly innocuous, just a metal or cardboard box; some contain a mixture of metal shrapnel and soil, while others are actually deadly explosives. These haven’t just appeared outside government offices, but also at tram stops, on buses and in non-leftist schools – every place touched by the surging wave of unrest.
Just walking down the street could get you blown to death these days. I had some sympathy for the workers to start with, but at this point I can’t condone them. The leftists say this is ‘to meet violence with violence’ and ‘a necessary evil’, insisting that a little sacrifice is worth it to defeat the British.
I really can’t understand what’s ‘worth it’ about hurting the people you ought to defend.
We’re people, not ants.
In an atmosphere of panic, we can only pray to be spared.
I’m particularly worried for Elder Brother, because of his work. He’s a broker, introducing people who mig
ht want to do business together, earning a bit of commission. He has no basic salary and when his luck is bad, we have to rely on my pittance to feed ourselves. But when he does seal a deal, he’ll take me out to a tea house – not the cheaper lower floors either, but all the way upstairs. What extravagance. He runs around Kowloon all day finding clients, so he’s much more likely than I am to get caught up in some street clash or bombing. I always tell him to be careful, and he answers, ‘If you’re fated to die at three o’clock, then no matter what, you won’t live to see five. If I was scared of death, I couldn’t earn any money, and then we’d both starve. Since I’m going to die anyway, what’s there to be afraid of? You have to take some risks to get rich in this world!’
I might not be like Elder Brother, criss-crossing Hong Kong Island and Kowloon, but when I leave the shop on a delivery or collection for Mr Ho, I’m always on the lookout for danger. Every minute I’m on the street, I’m aware of any suspicious people or objects around me. The leftists often paste up anti- government slogans looking like Chinese New Year couplets where they plant their bombs. ‘Roast the white-skinned pigs’ on one side, ‘Fry the yellow-skinned dogs’ on the other, and across the top: ‘Comrades keep clear’, but on white paper. ‘White-skinned pigs’ means the British, while the ‘yellow-skinned dogs’ are the Chinese police ‘helping the tiger to devour others’. I guess they think Chinese people who willingly serve the British are no different from collaborators during the Japanese occupation – all traitors who’ve betrayed the sovereignty of the people.
More than once, I’ve seen the police treat civilians with an iron hand. The Chinese officers seem even angrier than the British ones. Their hatred for the leftists seems even more evident.
This is a time of extremes. Most people know to be careful and stay out of trouble. If questioned by the police, whatever happens, don’t argue or you’ll be in their sights, meaning you’ll probably end up in prison. Before the May violence policemen already had privilege. For instance, if some of Mr Ho’s goods occupied a tiny bit of the sidewalk, a policeman could give him a ticket, unless Mr Ho gave a little ‘tea money’ to the cop, in which case the issue could be settled privately. But now the police are out of control, at liberty to arrest ‘suspicious elements’ for ‘obstructing a police officer in his duties’, ‘resisting arrest’, ‘taking part in unrest’, ‘unlawful assembly’ – all of which rely solely on the police officer’s word to establish guilt.
