All was well except the timing. As he walked out of the bureau, Chen called Jiang again with his cell phone. Jiang was not back at his office, or at home. His secretary apologized profusely. It was possible that Jiang had been trying to avoid him. Perhaps Jiang already knew about his trip. Since Chen had only one day left in the city, Jiang might gain a break for two weeks by not taking his phone call. Of course, Chen could turn over the pictures. But what happened then would be totally out of his control, especially since he would be visiting abroad. The pictures were the only trump card he had, and there was no point throwing it away like that. He knew that, and Jiang did too.

But Chen didn’t think that he had to worry too much. As long as he had those pictures, he didn’t believe Jiang could get away. It was only a matter of two weeks.

So he went to the Shanghai Library and got his books. He then decided to pay a visit to Gu at his KTV office. He should inform Gu of the trip, and more importantly, of An’s death. He didn’t want anything to happen to his businessman friend.

But Gu appeared to have already heard about it and was not eager to talk on the subject. “I am a law-abiding businessman, Chief Inspector Chen. I’ve not done anything out of the way, have I?”

“Of course you haven’t.”

“People should have known better than to stir up a sleeping snake.” Gu changed the topic, producing a bulging envelope and a small package. “For your trip. Now, I’m not offering you anything, Chen. I’m asking a favor of you.”

“How can that possibly be?”

“Shoot pictures for me in the United States of those ultra-modern or unique shopping malls. It would be really useful for my New World project, you know. Film may be expensive and I can’t let you put down your money for me. For a delegation member, the foreign currency allowance is only a hundred dollars.”

So once more it was Gu “asking a favor of him,” rather than the other way around. The shrewd businessman seemed to have all kinds of pretexts up his sleeve. It was true, however, that in accordance to the government regulation, Chen had only one hundred dollars as his personal allowance. China Bank did not allow people to exchange foreign currency without official permission, and Chen didn’t want to go to the black market for that.

“Whatever you say, Gu. I’ll shoot pictures and keep the receipts for you. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Gu said. “Oh, please ask about your American friend. What’s her name? She’s beautiful.”

“Catherine Rohn, but I’m not sure I’ll see her.”

“Here’s a small present from me in case you do.” Gu took out a brocade-covered case containing a Chinese brush pen, ink stone, ink stick, and a lion-headed seal chop with a tiny bowl of red seal ink. “She has a passion for Chinese culture, I remember.”

“It’s very considerate of you, Gu,” Chen said. Indeed, Gu could be a man full of surprises, and full of resources too. “Now, there’s another favor I have to ask of you.”

“Anything you say, Chen.’”

“For the next two weeks, my mother will be all alone. She is in poor health, as you know.”

“Yes, you’re right. What about sending White Cloud over? Last time she helped in the hospital. A clever, capable girl.”

Not too long ago, with his mother in the hospital and himself busy with a translation project for Gu, White Cloud had been assigned to him as a free “little secretary.” The old woman had thought highly of her, though he had refrained from telling his mother what a “little secretary” meant in today’s society.

“She’s very nice, but I don’t think my mother likes the idea of having anyone stay in her room. I’ve suggested a temporary maid for her, and she won’t listen.” He added emphatically, “Several robbery cases have occurred in her neighborhood recently.”

“Got it,” Gu responded promptly. “Nothing will happen to her. I give you my word. I know some people both in the black and white ways.”

The black way referred to triad organizations, in contrast to the white way of the government. If it was a matter of a rough neighborhood, Gu’s connection with the black way should be more than enough, and that was probably why Gu gave his word so promptly.

“I don’t know how to thank you enough, Gu.”

“Don’t say that, Chen, if you take me as a friend. With the long, long road, you know a horse.”

What else could Chen say, as a cop, to an entrepreneur with his triad connection?

Afterward, Chen thought it would indeed be helpful to have some extra dollars. Not that he would have a lot to purchase abroad, but there was no telling what he might have to do there.

As for the reunion with his “beautiful American friend,” he was not sure about it. Since their joint investigation in Shanghai, they had hardly kept up a correspondence, except some holiday cards. The contents on the cards could have had been examined by others. Of late, even those cards had become fewer and fewer. But he should have prepared some present for her, like Gu. He recalled her interest in Chinese literature. Then he had an idea. Something really special, he thought.

It was the first time that he felt any sort of eagerness at the thought of the trip.

Whose poem it was, he forgot, whistling in the breeze. Possibly a Tang dynasty poet. Chen thought that he, too, might be able to produce a couple of lines during the trip.

IN THE MIDST OF his delegation preparations, Chen also managed to find out which hotel Comrade Zhao was staying in. The Western Suburb Hotel.

The day after he had learned about Zhao’s arrival in Shanghai, he had not yet received Zhao’s call. The chief inspector waited until the early afternoon before he dialed the hotel. The operator refused to confirm that Zhao was staying there, much less put him through. It was little wonder with that particular hotel. So Chen decided to go there. The old man would not be too displeased with his unscheduled visit. While he did not think Zhao would make any change regarding his delegation appointment, he might be able to find out something behind the sudden decision.

The Western Suburb Hotel, located not far from Hongqiao Airport, was a high-class hotel not yet open to the public. The hotel consisted of a group of villas with woods and lakes enclosed in high surrounding walls. In its facilities, the hotel was perhaps on a par with those new, five-star American hotels in Shanghai, but it remained for the exclusive use of senior Party leaders during their visits here. In the last few years, when there were no important guests staying there, it would occasionally open its restaurant to outside business. The hotel itself remained enveloped in mystery.

At the hotel entrance, Chen showed his identification to an armed sentry. A chief inspector’s rank meant nothing here. He had to wait for the “leading comrade” to signal approval. Comrade Zhao must have said something to the sentry, who saluted Chen on a suddenly respectful note, saying, “Yes, please come in, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. Comrade Zhao is waiting for you. He stays in Building B, close to the end of the complex.”

It was an independent, two-storied, white colonial building shaded in green foliage. A young maid in her pink uniform opened the door for Chen. “Comrade Zhao is in the living room.”

Chen saw a long mahogany desk in the center of a spacious living room, which was furnished in a traditional Chinese way, with long silk scrolls of painting and calligraphy hung on the walls. The desk was covered with white xuan papers, ink stone, ink stick, and books. There was a curl of smoke rising from a small tiger-shaped bronze incense burner on a mahogany corner table.