by Chan Ho-Kei
Around eleven o’clock, a man came by. He seemed somehow familiar, then after a moment I realized he was one of the plotters I’d overheard – Mr Sum’s friend Chang Tin-san.
‘A bottle of Coke.’ He put down forty cents.
I took the money and got his drink from the new refrigerator, then sat back down. Mr Ho had stepped out, so I was alone in the store. Picking up the newspaper he’d been reading, I kept a corner of my eye on Mr Chang, wondering if he was here looking for Sum Chung. He stood in the store for some time, left hand in his trouser pocket, leaning against the icebox as he drank his soda. He kept looking towards the street corner, trying to seem casual. Please just finish your drink and get out of here! I thought. I knew Cop 3 and Cop 7 would be showing up on their rounds any moment, and God knew if this guy would try to start something with them.
Even before I could finish my thought, the two policemen appeared. Just like always, they walked side by side, passing by the bakery, pharmacy and tailor before reaching the store.
‘A Coke and a Super Cola, please,’ said Cop 7. As usual, he put down thirty cents to pay for his share, the locally produced Super Cola being ten cents cheaper than Coke.
I got the two sodas from the fridge and handed them over. They kept chatting as they drank, blissfully unaware that they were standing right next to a bomber, drinking the same beverage, while I shook with fear.
‘This is the eleven o’clock news,’ came the melodious voice on the radio. ‘A bomb has been discovered at Causeway Bay Magistracy. Police have sealed off that stretch of Electric Road to both traffic and pedestrians. At ten fifteen this morning, employees discovered a suspicious object at the entrance to their office, and called police. Investigations are ongoing, and it is still unknown whether this device was real or not.’
I noticed one corner of Mr Chang’s mouth curving upward – could he be the one who’d planted it?
Next item. ‘The British Royal Air Force Vice Chief of Air Staff, Air Marshal Sir Peter Fletcher, arrived in Hong Kong this morning for a five-day visit. Air Marshal Fletcher is meeting the Governor of Hong Kong this afternoon, and tomorrow will visit the Royal Air Base to personally thank the British troops stationed here, as well as to attend a banquet jointly organized by the British Overseas Forces and police. Air Marshal Fletcher has said he agrees with Far East Commander-in-Chief General Michael Carver, who said on a previous visit that the Hong Kong people are the first line in the defence of peace in this territory, while the police are the second line, and British troops the third. British soldiers will only assist the government when necessary—’
‘What bullcrap! Lying white-skinned pig!’
My skin prickled. I looked up at Mr Chang uncertainly, to see his face full of contempt as he sipped his half-empty cola.
‘Hey, what did you say?’ barked Cop 3.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ Chang Tin-san didn’t even turn round.
‘I heard you say “white-skinned pig”.’
‘Oh, you looked quite dark to me – don’t tell me you’re a white-skinned pig too?’ Not only was Mr Chang not backing down, he was answering back. This meant trouble.
‘Put down that bottle and stand against the wall!’
‘What law have I broken? What right do you have?’
‘You seem to have too much free time, and I suspect you’re concealing a weapon or leftist propaganda, so I’m going to search you.’
‘So you hear someone say “white-skinned pig” and you’re going to make a big thing out of it. Just like a yellow-skinned dog,’ sneered Mr Chang.
‘You’re dead meat, leftist boy. You dare to repeat that?’
‘Yellow. Skinned. Dog.’
Then everything started happening at once. Cop 3 pulled out his truncheon and smashed Mr Chang in the face. The Coke bottle flew from his hand and shattered on the ground, while he tumbled to the side. Cop 3 struck a second blow as he fell, right in the middle of his chest.
‘Aah—’ As Mr Chang lost his balance, he pulled his left hand out of his pocket, as if trying to grab Cop 3’s collar. My attention was caught by something else, though – a scrap of paper fell from his trouser pocket and landed in front of me. I instinctively picked it up and glanced at what was written on it, then, realizing I shouldn’t interfere, handed it over.
It was Cop 7 who took the note – fortunately. Cop 3 would probably have insisted I must be a confederate of Mr Chang, and hauled me off to the station too.
Cop 7 looked at the paper and furrowed his brow, then whispered something to Cop 3, who was still beating up Mr Chang, and held the paper before his eyes. Cop 3’s expression changed immediately.
‘Where’s the phone?’ Cop 3 said urgently. I pointed at the one on the wall.
Cop 3 put the bleeding Chang Tin-san in handcuffs and ordered Cop 7 to keep watch over him, then dialled a number. He only spoke a few words before hanging up, and minutes later, a van pulled up with several officers in it. They slung Mr Chang into the vehicle, then climbed in and drove away.
During the whole incident, neighbouring shopkeepers and assistants had stuck their heads out to watch. I thought this wasn’t curiosity but fear – they wanted to know if they should run away. After the police van departed, peace resumed. I swept and mopped where the bottle had broken and went back to taking care of the shop.
When Mr Ho returned, I gave him a brief report, saying the police had arrested a man who said the wrong thing. Mr Ho sighed, ‘At a time like this it’s best to be careful of your words. Trouble only arrives when you show your strength – you’ll live a long life if you just keep quiet.’
Is that really true? Keep quiet to live a long life?
Should we never say anything, and just suffer in silence?
I knew too much.
I had only glanced at Mr Chang’s note, but its contents were burned in my mind. Turns out having a good memory isn’t always an advantage.
The paper just had a few lines on it:
18 Aug
X. 10.00 a.m. Causeway Bay Magistracy (real)
19 Aug
1. 10.30 a.m. Tsim Sha Tsui Police Quarters (fake)
2. 1.40 p.m. Central Magistracy (fake)
3. 4.00 p.m. Murray House (real)
4. 5.00 p.m. Sha Tin Train Station (real)
The afternoon news continued to report on the incident at the Causeway Bay Magistracy. The British sent a bomb disposal expert to carry out a controlled explosion, confirming that it was a genuine ‘pineapple’ and could have caused serious harm.
Just as Mr Chang’s note promised.
Everything matched – the date, time and place, and that it was ‘real’. The X wasn’t clear at first, but I thought it probably showed the task was complete and crossed off. That meant tomorrow, bombs, some real and some fake, would be planted at the police dormitory in Tsim Sha Tsui, the magistracy on Arbuthnot Road in Central, Sha Tin railway station and Murray House in Central, one of the government’s main offices.
Even if the Causeway Bay bomb wasn’t the work of Mr Chang, the note incriminated him. In the current state of emergency, just the words ‘Causeway Bay Magistracy’ would have been enough for the police to take him away for questioning. Even if Cops 3 and 7 hadn’t got the reports from Causeway Bay because they were on patrol, they’d surely have heard the radio news.
Cops 3 and 7 had got all worked up over those last four lines. Knowing the targets in advance, the police would just have to spread a net and wait for the rabbits to fall into it.
But I felt something was wrong.
Those four targets all made sense – they were exactly the sorts of places the leftist groups were attacking. Police quarters were home to ‘yellow-skinned dogs’, Central Magistracy was shamelessly carrying out unjust interrogations, and Murray House was where the ‘white-skinned pigs’ worked. Sha Tin station wasn’t a government building, but the leftists also believed in creating as much chaos as possible, and a bomb in a crowded station would certainly achieve that, strik
ing at people’s trust in the colonial government.
But there was one thing that niggled at me. The day before, I’d heard Master Chow and Sum Chung say, ‘We’ll disperse immediately from Jordan Road Ferry Pier.’
So why wasn’t the pier on that list?
3
ON SATURDAY 19 August, around ten in the morning, I was yawning and bleary-eyed as I helped Mr Ho with stock-taking. I’d had nightmares all night long, starting awake several times.
When I’d finished work the night before, I paid close attention to our two neighbours, looking for any reaction to Mr Chang’s arrest. Sum Chung wasn’t any different, whereas Toh Sze-keung seemed unsettled. On Saturday morning at nine, while I was busy in the store, I saw the two of them head out together, empty-handed. Mr Sum even called out a greeting to me.
I distractedly finished checking the stock, then went back inside to watch the store for Mr Ho – he was meeting a friend he hadn’t seen in a while for tea, and would be back around noon.
Staring at the clock, I thought about the note.
It was still ten minutes until 10.30. Would the police be waiting at Tsim Sha Tsui? If Mr Sum or Mr Toh really did turn up to plant bombs, would they see the trap and abort in time? Or had their leaders already learned of Mr Chang’s arrest and changed the plan?
Earlier that morning, Elder Brother had told me he was showing a client some land in the New Territories that afternoon, and if he closed the deal it would mean a big commission. He was spending the night at a friend’s place, and told me not to wait up for him. I asked him not to take the train, saying something vague about how ‘pineapples’ were appearing on public transport and in stations these days.
‘My client has a car, you don’t need to worry,’ he’d smiled.
I turned on the radio and listened intently to the news, but no bombs were mentioned. There was another report about that British Air Force guy’s visit, as well as the latest development – a British journalist named Anthony Grey had been put under house arrest in Beijing. A little after eleven, Cop 7 came by, his uniform neatly pressed, and asked for a soda.
As I handed over the bottle, I made a decision.
‘Are you all alone today, Officer?’ I didn’t know whether it was a good idea to speak to a policeman at this point, but Cop 3 seemed to be somewhere else, and Cop 7 wasn’t the sort to arrest people without a good reason.
‘Yes, we’re short-staffed, so I’m patrolling alone.’ Laconic as ever.
‘Is... everything prepared at the Tsim Sha Tsui Police Quarters?’ I asked carefully.
Cop 7 put down the bottle and looked at me. I felt a little worried, but then looking at his expression, I knew my words hadn’t ruffled him too much.
‘So you did see it,’ he said. He picked up the bottle again and kept drinking, as if I hadn’t said anything unusual. I’d been right about him – he was much friendlier than Cop 3, who’d probably be shouting at me by now, calling me a ‘leftist kid’.
‘I saw what was in the note, and I know that fellow,’ I said boldly.
‘Oh?’
‘He’s called Chang Tin-san. He used to work in a textile factory, but after going on strike, he joined these organizations instead.’
‘And you too?’ His tone remained the same, which startled me.
‘No, not at all. I have nothing to do with them. But that Mr Chang is friends with one of my housemates, so I’ve seen him a few times.’
‘I see. And you have something to tell me?’
‘Well...’ I stumbled over my words, not sure what I could say without getting myself into trouble. ‘The day before, I happened to hear Chang Tin-san and his friends planning an attack.’
‘The day before? Why didn’t you call the police at once?’
Damn. Now he was going to blame me for the whole thing.
‘I... I wasn’t sure what I’d heard. I’d just woken up from an afternoon nap, and only heard bits and pieces of a conversation. If I hadn’t seen that note, and heard about the Causeway Bay bomb, I still wouldn’t be sure.’
‘So what did you hear?’
I gave him a rough account of the discussion. Of course, I omitted all mention of ‘white-skinned pigs’ and ‘yellow-skinned dogs’.
‘So you’re saying this Master Chow, the journalist Toh Sze-keung and the worker Sum Chung are connected to the case? Fine, I’ll tell the investigation room.’ Cop 7 wrote down the names as he spoke. ‘I’ve run into that reporter a couple of times before, but don’t think I’ve seen Chow or Sum...’
‘Officer, you don’t understand.’ I shook my head. ‘There’s something strange about all this.’
‘Strange?’
‘I heard them talking about Jordan Road Ferry Pier – but that wasn’t on the note.’
‘What did the note say?’
‘Causeway Bay Magistracy, Tsim Sha Tsui Police Quarters, Central Magistracy, Murray House and Sha Tin Train Station.’
‘Good memory.’ There was a hint of mockery in his voice. Did he suspect I was working with Mr Chang and trying to trick him?
‘I make deliveries for Mr Ho, and have to remember four or five addresses at a time, so I’ve become good at it,’ I explained.
‘So you think it’s odd that the places on the list didn’t include a pier.’
‘Yes.’
‘If the criminals really were following the list, they’d need to use a boat at some point, so naturally a pier would come into it,’ he said breezily. ‘Toh Sze-keung and Sum Chung live here, and Sum mentioned that Master Chow lives nearby. If they were going to Tsim Sha Tsui to plant their fake pineapples, they’d need to take the ferry across the bay. In fact, if they were really following that itinerary, they’d need to go back and forth between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon two more times, because after the Tsim Sha Tsui bomb, they’d have to get to Central for the Magistracy and Murray House, and then drag themselves all the way out to the New Territories for Sha Tin Train Station.’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘Not possible?’
‘There were times on that list too, remember?’
‘Yes, so?’
‘Murray House was down for four p.m., and the train station for five p.m. How could you get all the way from Central to Sha Tin in just an hour? The ferry alone would take you thirty minutes.’
‘Maybe the times meant when the bombs would go off, rather than when they’d be set,’ Cop 7 retorted. ‘A bomb could go off at four p.m. but have been placed there hours earlier. The previous location is Central Magistracy, just ten minutes away from Murray House.’
‘No, it has to mean when they were set.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because the Causeway Bay bomb didn’t go off at ten a.m. yesterday.’
Cop 7 lowered his head and was silent for a moment, as if turning my words over in his head. Besides, I wanted to tell him, two of the bombs were marked as fake – they’d hardly have a detonation time.
‘So,’ Cop 7 looked up at me. ‘You believe Toh Sze-keung, Sum Chung and this Mr Chow were splitting up the tasks?’
‘That wouldn’t work either. There were four of them, so it would seem logical to be in charge of one bomb each, but I heard Sum Chung and Master Chow talking about working together; they said, “When we’re assembled, we’ll start.”’
‘There might be more conspirators.’
‘That’s possible, but there’s still something I don’t understand.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Today’s Saturday, so government offices are only open in the morning.’ I indicated the wall calendar. ‘Why would they want to bomb them in the afternoon? They should strike on a weekday, or Saturday morning, for the greatest possible impact.’
Cop 7 looked surprised. The police were so overworked, he’d probably lost track of where he was in the week.
‘What do you think, then?’ He looked more serious than before, as if realizing that I had a point.
‘I think th
at list is fake.’
‘Fake?’
‘Chang Tin-san was bait – his job was to mislead the police,’ I explained. ‘He knows you two pass by here every day at this time, so made sure to pick a fight with you, and then let you discover the fake intelligence.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘To conceal the real targets, of course. Today, the police and bomb disposal experts are all gathered at the locations on the list, while the comms and strategy teams will be busier than usual. Security at other places will be weaker. And unlike before, when they leave the bombs at the real targets, they won’t be marked with clear warnings. They’re seeking to create maximum impact, “to shake the hearts of the colonials”. Master Chow said to Chang Tin-san, “We’re counting on you,” as if he was making some kind of sacrifice. And Sum Chung said Mr Chang would be taking care of “the other side”. I think that means they’re giving up one comrade in order to secure victory through misdirection.’
Cop 7’s face sank. After a moment, he walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver.
‘Hang on!’ I yelled.
‘What’s up?’ He turned to look at me.
‘Are you phoning your superiors?’
‘Of course, do you need to ask?’
‘But everything we’ve talked about is just conjecture.’
Cop 7’s hand hesitated on the dial.
‘If you report this to the higher-ups and they reallocate everyone, and then real bombs do go off at Murray House and Sha Tin station, you’ll be in big trouble.’
Cop 7 furrowed his brow and replaced the receiver. I guess he agreed with me.
‘What do you suggest, then?’
‘Um... we could find some evidence?’ I pointed above us. ‘They said Toh Sze-keung’s room would be their base; maybe they’ve left some clues there. You can go in and search, and if anyone comes in, we’ll say you’re my guest.’
‘I’m not a detective, searching for evidence isn’t my job...’
‘But you’re a police officer! Do you want me to go and search on my own?’ How stubborn he was, I thought.
