“What do you mean?”

“I cannot understand why it took so long for Wen to get her passport. She started the application process in January. Now it is mid-April. In fact, she should have been in the United States long since.”

“January?” He did not have that date in mind. “I do not know too much about the process, Inspector Rohn. In fact, I did not get the assignment until yesterday afternoon. I’ll look into it and give you an answer. Now I must leave so I can talk to Detective Yu when he calls me at my home.”

“You can call him from here.”

“He arrived in Fujian this morning and started working at once with the local police. He has not checked into a hotel yet. That’s why I have to wait at home for his call.” Chen stood up. “Oh, I have something else for you. Some information about the Fengs. Perhaps the part about Feng is not new to you, but Wen’s dossier may be worth reading. I have translated some of it into English.”

“Thank you, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“I’ll return tomorrow morning. I hope you sleep well your first night in Shanghai, Inspector Rohn.”

In spite of the awkwardness of their conversation, which he had anticipated, she walked him down the crimson-carpeted corridor to the elevator.

“Don’t stay up too late. We will have a lot to do tomorrow, Inspector Rohn.”

She tucked a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “Good night, Chief Inspector Chen.”

Catherine could not fall asleep despite her travel fatigue and the hands of a cloisonné clock on the nightstand indicating the beginning of a new day.

Finally, she threw off the sheet, got up, and walked to the window. The lights of the Bund surged up to greet her.

Shanghai. The Bund. The Huangpu River. The Peace Hotel… It was a pleasant surprise that the Shanghai Police Bureau had chosen this hotel for her. She was not in the mood, however, to marvel at the scene spread out beneath her. Her mission in China had totally changed.

Originally, it was to have been simple. To accompany Wen to the local offices for a passport, to fill out the visa forms at the American Consulate, and to escort her onto the airplane at her earliest convenience. According to Ed Spencer, her supervisor in Washington, all she was to do was to apply a touch of pressure when needed, to make the U.S. Marshals’ presence felt, so the Chinese would expedite the matter. Ed joked about buying lunch for her in D.C. this weekend. Even allowing for minor delays, it should have taken her four or five days at most. Now she did not know how long she would have to stay in Shanghai.

Was the report of Wen’s sudden disappearance simply a lie? It was possible. The Chinese had not been enthusiastic about Wen joining her husband in the United States. If Jia Xinzhi, the head of the smuggling ring, was convicted, that might make international headlines. The sordid details of this notorious business would not improve the image of the Chinese government abroad. Involvement of local law enforcement officials in the human smuggling trade had been suspected. In such a well-policed country, how could smugglers have succeeded in transporting thousands of people out of the country without the notice of the authorities? According to one report she had read on the plane, hundreds of illegal immigrants had traveled on military trucks from Fuzhou to a seaport for embarkation. To cover up their complicity, the Chinese authorities might be trying to prevent the witness’s wife from leaving the country, so as to forestall the trial. First the inexplicable delay, now Wen’s even more inexplicable disappearance. Was this a last-minute effort of the Chinese to wriggle out of the deal they had made? If this was the case, her mission would be impossible.

She scratched at a vicious mosquito bite on her arm.

Nor did she feel very compatible with Chief Inspector Chen, though his being assigned as her partner suggested that the Chinese were seriously trying to honor their commitment. Not merely because of his rank. There was something else about the man; he seemed sincere. But he could have been chosen to play a deceptive role. In fact, he might not even be a chief inspector. Maybe he was a secret agent with a special assignment: to string her along.

She called Washington. Ed Spencer was not in the office. She left a message, giving him the hotel phone number.

Putting down the phone, Catherine started to read the files Chen had left. There was not much about Feng that was new to her, but the information about Wen was fresh, plentiful, and well-organized.

It took her almost an hour to read it through. In spite of her background, she found several recurring Chinese terms hard to understand. She underlined them, hoping she might dig out definitions in a large dictionary the next day. Then she tried to frame her report to her supervisor.

What was there for her to do in China now?

She could simply wait, as Chief Inspector Chen suggested. Alternatively she might offer to join the investigation. It was an important case for them. Feng’s testimony was needed and, to obtain it, they had to reunite him with his wife, if she was still alive. She decided it would be best for her to take part in the investigation. The Chinese had no reason to refuse the request unless there really was a cover-up effort on their side. Chen seemed certain that Wen was alive. But if she had been killed, no one could know how that would affect Feng’s testimony.

Inspector Rohn had not been pleased with her special status as something of an expert on China in the Marshals Service, though it was that status that brought her here. Taking part in the investigation would be an opportunity to prove that her major in Chinese studies was not irrelevant to her position, and would also give her an opportunity to learn about the real Chinese people.

So she started writing a fax to Ed Spencer. After briefing him on the unexpected development, she requested that he look for a tape of Feng’s phone call on April fifth, being especially alert to a possible coded message. She then asked his approval for her joining the investigation. At the end, she made a request for information about Chief Inspector Chen Cao.

Before she went down to the hotel’s fax room, she added one sentence, asking Ed to send his reply to the hotel around 10 a.m. Shanghai time, so she could be waiting by the fax machine. She did not want anybody else to look at the contents, even if written in English.

After the fax went through, she had a quick meal in the dining room. Back in her own room, she took another shower. She was still not sleepy. Wrapped in a bath towel, she looked out again at the illuminated expanse of the river. She caught a glimpse of a ship bearing a striped flag. At that distance, she could not make out its name. It might be an American cruise ship anchored for the night in the Huangpu River.

Around four in the morning, she took two tablets of Dramamine, which she had brought with her in case of motion sickness. Its soporific side effect was what she needed. In addition, she took a bottle of Budweiser out of the refrigerator; its Chinese name was Baiwei meaning-”a hundred times more powerful.” The Anheuser-Busch brewery had a joint venture in Wuhan.

As she turned from the window, she thought of a Song dynasty poem she had studied in a class. It was about a traveler’s loneliness, in spite of the marvelous scenery. Trying to recall the lines, she fell asleep.

She was awakened by the bedside alarm clock. Rubbing her eyes, she jumped up, disoriented. It was 9:45. She had no time to take a shower. Pulling on a T-shirt and a pair of old jeans, she left her room wearing the hotel’s disposable slippers which were almost paper thin, and seemed to be made of the same material as that used for transparent plastic raincoats. Hurrying down to the hotel fax room, she straightened her hair in the elevator with a pocket comb.