A Loyal Character Dancer

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.
     
    The fax for her came at the time she had specified. The feedback was more substantial than she had expected. First, the fact of Feng’s phone